


The Adventures of Time Dad

by DarkestSight (Daylight)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, RipFic, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-29
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2018-08-27 16:12:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 77,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8408173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daylight/pseuds/DarkestSight
Summary: Some days Rip wants to strangle them. Some days he wants to hug them. Some days he wants to do both.





	1. Threats and Addenda

**Author's Note:**

> Who first called Rip 'Time Dad'? I don't know but it wasn't me so credit where credit is due.
> 
> This was supposed to be a five things fic but I've decided I don't want to limit myself to five, so this is going to be a series of random short scenes of the team pretty much driving Rip insane, but with a lot of love thrown in. The scenes will involve silly and soppy crack and fluff and possibly some hurt/comfort.

Rip knows how to take a punch. He needs to considering how often he’s on the receiving end of one. Unfortunately, he really doesn’t see this one coming. One moment the supervillain wannabe is calmly pacing back and forth along the rooftop in front of the team, smugly bragging about how he plans to use his recently created time machine to conquer the entire planet, the next he’s fallen into a red-faced rage swinging a fist at Rip and yelling about interfering do-gooders. 

There is a brief second where Rip is able to wonder exactly what sort of personality disorder the supervillain wannabe is suffering from, and then the pain hits him. The blow is powerful enough to knock him off his feet, the supervillain turning out to be surprisingly strong, and Rip tumbles backwards seeing not only stars but entire galaxies burst in front of his eyes.

Things go rather fuzzy for a while. When Rip is finally able to make sense of the world once more, he finds himself lying on the ground, Ray and Martin kneeling beside him with looks of concern on their faces. 

Rip groans putting a hand up to his ringing head. He is about to reassure the others he’s alright when a familiar growl draws his attention elsewhere. Gazing over to where the supervillain wannabe was standing, he finds the supervillain now several inches off the ground being held up by the lapels by Mick. The villain’s face is now several shades paler and he looks like he is seriously reconsidering his life choices. Something which would probably happen to anyone who suddenly finds the furious face of Mick Rory only an inch away from their own.

“No one,” Mick growls emphatically. “No one punches our Captain and gets away with it.”

The supervillain sputters and lets out the sort of whine a distressed puppy might make. He is saved from responding however by the sound of someone loudly clearing their throat.

Everyone turns to look at Sara Lance.

Sara in turn looks pointedly at Mick. The smile on her face is somewhat sheepish but her eyes twinkle with amusement.

Mick turns back to their villain. “No one but Sara,” he corrects, “is allowed to punch our Captain and get away with it.”

The supervillain whines again, his legs swinging helplessly in the air.

This time it’s Jax who interrupts. “Well, there was that time Kendra... uh...”

Mick rolls his eyes but corrects himself again. “No one but the members of our team are allowed to punch our Captain and get away with it.”

By this time, the supervillain wannabe is looking less scared and more confused.

“Jonah did technically...” Ray begins.

“Fine,” Mick snaps. “No one but the members of our team and Jonah are allowed to punch our Captain and get away with it, but I like Jonah.” He moves his face even closer to the supervillain’s until their noses are almost touching. “I don’t like you.”

The supervillain wannabe swallows convulsively. He opens his mouth several times and makes some random noises but doesn’t manage to say anything coherent before he is tossed off the roof.

Mick turns back to the team with a satisfied smile on his face. 

Rip sighs and shakes his head, but says, “Thank you, Mr. Rory,” because after all, it’s the thought that counts.


	2. What Not to Do

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should mention that these stories are meant to take place during the six month gap between seasons 1 and 2, but Snart may randomly appear because I have a tendency to forget he's supposed to be dead. I don't think anyone will really mind though.

The team is gathered on the bridge, some standing casually, some leaning against consoles, some sprawled lazily in chairs. Rip has just been briefing them on their next mission, and in his opinion, it went fairly well. No one questioned his plan or suggested an alternative, and ultimately more violent, option. There was only a minimum amount of complaining about the assignments given and no one suggested a quick side mission to the local bar. All in all it was a surprisingly peaceful meeting. 

Rip should have known it wouldn’t last.

“Right,” he says, clapping his hands together. “You all know what you’re doing. Things should go smoothly as long as you keep out of trouble and remember everything I’ve told you, specifically what I’ve told you countless times not to do.”

The team blink blankly at him and exchange looks.

Sara who is slouched in a chair, head resting on her hand, says, “You mean no calling ‘Not it’ when you’re assigning chores?”

“Oh, I know,” says Ray, snapping his fingers. “No calling dibs on the showers.”

“No practicing thieving skills on fellow teammates?” says Leonard with a lazy smirk.

“No using the fabricator to make cosplay costumes?” says Jax with a wry grin.

Martin clears his throat. “No performing potentially dangerous physics experiments on the Waverider is one I recall hearing often.”

“How about no setting fire to things on the ship to see if they’re flammable?” suggests Mick, not bothering to look up from his examination of the dirt under his fingernails.

Rip stares at them, unable to decide whether or not they are joking. “No messing with the timeline!” he cries out in exasperation.

There is a chorus of ‘oh’s, and the team nod smiling in understanding, or possibly amusement.

Rip puts his face in his hands. At least, they listened, he thinks. They don’t actually do what he tells them, but at least, they listen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soonish and possibly not in this order:  
> \- Poor Tired Time Dad  
> \- I'm Not Angry. I'm Just Very Disappointed.  
> \- The Battle of the Trolls  
> \- The Small Matter of Birthdays


	3. The Battle of the Trolls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clearly this is going to be a dumping ground for all my silliest fic ideas.

Rip found the first troll on a shelf in the Waverider’s new library wedged between a copy of the first folio of Shakespeare’s plays and an Aztec statue of a coiled serpent.

Not being able to identify the ugly plastic creature, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands, making a face as he examined its impish grin, chubby body, and tuft of bright pink hair. There was something incredibly disturbing about the way its bulbous eyes seemed to be watching him.

“Gideon, what the hell is this?” he asked.

“A Troll Doll,” the A.I. replied. “A toy originally created in Denmark in 1959 and very popular in the United States during the latter part of the twentieth century.”

Rip frowned wondering how on earth the doll had ended up in the library or on the ship for that matter. Deciding it must be someone’s poor idea of a joke, he put it back on the shelf, after all it seemed harmless enough, but he pushed the troll as far back as he could so he wouldn’t have to see it watching him. 

He found the second troll in the galley the next morning. It was there when he opened a cupboard in search of some cereal. He almost jumped when he saw it staring out at him from among the cereal boxes. At first, he thought it was the same one as before, that someone had moved it; then he recalled the first one had had pink hair. The hair on this one was fluorescent green.

Scowling, Rip gazed about the room. The Legends were peacefully having breakfast, or at least, as peacefully as they did anything. Leonard was attempting to see how strong he could make his morning coffee, Ray and Martin were arguing over who had eaten the last of the bacon, and Jax and Sara were throwing grapes at each other. Mick, who had recently arrived, pushed past Rip, completely ignored the troll, and grabbed a box of Fruit Loops immediately shoving his hand into the box and pulling out a handful of multicoloured O’s which he shoved into his mouth.

Rip sighed. Obviously, this was just another one of the team’s many quirks he would have to learn to put up with. He closed the cupboard deciding to leave the troll alone and have fruit for breakfast instead.

The third troll had purple hair and turned up in the engine room when Rip and Jax were doing repairs. They found it inside what was meant to be a sealed compartment which they’d opened to get access to the secondary life support systems. The sight of it peering out at them from between the electronic components caused Jax to fall over laughing and the Captain, who was more than a little startled, to start cursing emphatically which only made Jax laugh harder.

The fourth troll was in the medbay. It had blue hair and was wearing Bermuda shorts with polka dots on them. Rip realized he must be starting to get used to them when all he did upon seeing it was roll his eyes. Martin, to whom Rip had been showing how to use some of the more complicated medical equipment, grimaced when he saw it, and Rip was pleased to know he wasn’t the only one who despised the things.

The fifth troll was smaller than the others and had yellow hair. It was Ray who found the troll this time. He discovered it in the lab when he was working on his suit and was so enchanted by the doll he placed it in his shirt pocket and, much to Rip’s annoyance, carried it around with him all day.

Rip found the sixth troll seated on the captain’s chair at the front of the bridge. This troll had red hair and was wearing a sailor suit. Rip took great satisfaction in throwing it as hard as he could across the room much to the amusement of the rest of the Legends.

The seventh troll was the final straw. Rip had been just about to lay down for the night and upon pulling back the covers on his bed, found a rainbow haired troll leering up at him. The noise he made was akin to that of a strangled chimpanzee. Giving up on sleep, he called an emergency team meeting instead.

“This ends now!” he bellowed holding up the troll to the gathering of grumpy Legends half of which had already been asleep when he’d ordered them to the bridge. “I don’t know where these things came from. I don’t know who has been placing them around the ship, but as of now, they are no longer allowed on the Waverider.”

“You got us out of bed for this?” said Mick in disbelief.

Ray held up a hand. “What about...”

“No more trolls! I’m instituting a new rule. I don’t want to see another one of these demonic creatures ever again. Understood?”

Rip glared at his team. None of them looked happy, but that was probably more due to being dragged out of bed than the newly instituted troll ban and since no more protests were made, Rip left the bridge and stomped back to his quarters in hopes of finally getting a peaceful night sleep and never seeing any more troll dolls.

He should have known that wouldn’t be the end of it.

Early the next morning, or the Waverider equivalent of morning, Rip walked onto the bridge and stopped in front of his study staring in astonishment. 

The entire room was full of trolls. There were trolls standing upon the tables. There were trolls cuddling in the leather armchairs. There were trolls displayed among the collected treasures on the shelves. There were trolls shoved into the cluttered contents of his desk. There were trolls hanging from his telescope, clinging to his globe, sitting on his phonograph, and even hidden among his liquor bottles. Pink haired trolls, turquoise haired trolls, orange haired trolls, black haired trolls, white haired trolls, blue haired trolls. Trolls wearing sweaters, hats, and dresses. Trolls in wizard robes, jester costumes, cheerleader uniforms, and wedding gowns.

Dozens of creepy eyes and deranged grins all directed at Rip.

Slowly backing away from his study and its sudden troll infestation, Rip went from shocked to disturbed to an ire verging on apoplexy until finally settling into a hardened determination. Fists clenching, he marched out of the room and headed for the galley. The pair were exactly where he’d expected to find them, eating breakfast at one of the tables. He slammed his hands down upon it causing the dishes to rattle loudly.

“I want those trolls off my ship now!”

Sara and Leonard exchanged looks.

“What makes you think we have anything to do with them?” Sara asked, an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Rip rolled his eyes. “There’s no point in denying it. I know it’s you two. As if it could be anyone else.”

Sara and Leonard exchanged looks again and gave matching shrugs.

“Fair point,” Snart conceded.

“Now,” Rip continued. “You will remove the trolls from my study, and anywhere else you might have hidden them, and get rid of them all by the end of the day.”

“Or what?” said Sara raising her eyebrows.

Rip straightened up and folded his arms across his chest. “You know Gideon has quite an extensive music library in her database including thirty-seven types of polka music. How would like to hear nothing but polka for twenty-four hours a day?”

Leonard placed his elbows on the table and leaned towards Rip. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me,” Rip replied.

They stared at each other, gazes unwavering.

Sara was the one though who broke first. “Fine,” she said with a sigh. “We’ll get rid of the stupid trolls.”

Snart turned to her in confusion.

“This has gotten beyond ridiculous,” she said. “Besides, I really hate polka music.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Rip. “Now remember, I expect those trolls gone by the end of the day. Where’d you even get them all?” He held up a hand forestalling any answer. “Forget I asked. I don’t want to know.”

Leaving the galley, Rip prayed that that would finally be the end of it.

******

_“I’m not sure this is such a good idea.”_

_“How else do you suppose we get rid of them?”_

_“Mick could melt them with his gun.”_

_“Do you really want the whole ship smelling of melted plastic?”_

_“I suppose not.”_

_“Then out they go. Would you care to do the honors?”_

_Beep. Whoosh._

_“Bye bye, trolls.”_

******

Later, when the battle was over, when they’d fought off and defeated the invasion of giant mutated troll dolls, or Evil Time Trolls as Ray had christened them, Rip stomped over to Sara and Snart, through the plastic body parts and burnt tufts of brightly coloured hair, and said with a voice of someone too exhausted to be truly angry anymore, “New rule: no tossing things out into the temporal zone!”

At least one good thing came out of it, Rip consoled himself. After the battle, no one else wanted to see another troll doll on the ship either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still to come:  
> \- Poor Tired Time Dad (coming very soon)  
> \- I'm Not Angry. I'm Just Very Disappointed. (coming a little later)  
> \- The Small Matter of Birthdays (I should probably start writing this)  
> \- A Few Home Comforts (this is only a vague idea)  
> \- The Family Barbecue (now this is just silly)


	4. Poor Tired Time Dad

Rip is sleeping and dreaming, and dreaming he’s sleeping. In his dream, he’s sleeping on a bed made of old parchment paper covered in scrawls of black ink he can’t quite decipher. It’s a surprisingly comfortable bed, but he can’t seem to shake the feeling he should be reading the papers instead of sleeping on them and that he’ll be in big trouble if he doesn’t. He’s trying to decide whether he should get up and try to make sense of the black scribbles when he starts to hear voices. They seem to be coming from all around him, and in the fuzziness of his dream, he can’t quite locate their source.

“There he is,” someone says, someone fairly young based on the sound of their voice. “No wonder he didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“Aww,” says someone else, a woman. “He’s kind of cute when he’s asleep.”

“I can’t believe you just said that,” says a third voice with a smokey drawl.

A gruff voice asks, “Anyone got a pen?”

“Oh, I have one,” says a bright voice with an unnecessary amount of enthusiasm.

“Give it here,” says the gruff voice. “I want to draw dicks on his face before he wakes up.”

“You are not drawing dicks on his face,” says yet another voice, older and sterner than the rest.

“He is just sleeping, right?” asks the young voice worriedly. “I mean he’s not sick or dead or something?”

“Well, considering he’s currently breathing, I’m pretty sure he’s still alive,” says the woman.

“Also Gideon would have let us know if something were really wrong,” adds the bright voice.

“Too bad,” says the smokey drawl. “And here I thought we’d finally have a chance to take over the ship.”

“Very funny,” says the young voice.

“Who’s joking,” says the gruff one.

The older voice says, “Clearly what’s happened is our dear Captain has been overworking himself yet again and I think it’s high time he got some proper rest.”

A hand falls on Rip’s shoulder.

“Rip?”

The touch combined with the sound of his name is like a jolt of electricity. The dream vanishes, reality reasserts itself, and Rip realizes he hasn’t actually been sleeping on a bed of parchment, but has in fact been sleeping at his desk in his study. He is sitting not lying down and the only papers are the ones his head is currently using as a pillow. 

He is also completely surrounded by the members of his team, all of whom are staring at him.

Rip groans. Rubbing his hands across his face, he sits up and groans again when pain shoots down his back.

“Good morning, Captain,” says Martin in an unnecessarily cheerful voice.

It’s followed by a chorus of ‘Morning’s from the rest of the crew who are all showing a tad too much amusement at his current predicament.

“Uh, good morning,” Rip says, his voice rough. He blinks several times as he tries to rid himself of the sensation of unreality which always seems to follow him when he wakes up in the middle of a dream. “Sorry. I... um... It seems I fell asleep.”

“No duh,” is Jax’s insightful comment.

“You alright, Rip?” asks Ray.

“I’m fine,” Rip replies. He runs a hand through his hair and tries not to think of what a mess he must look. “I just stayed up rather late researching our next mission.” 

It wasn’t the first time. There is always so much to do, missions to perform and get ready for, the ship and crew to look after, and, irony of ironies for a Time Master, there never seems to be enough time. This isn’t even the first time he’s fallen asleep in his study, far from the first time. There is usually a safeguard though that prevents something like this embarrassing moment from occurring.

“Gideon, why didn’t you wake me?”

“You have not achieved the prescribed amount of sleep for the past four nights,” says Gideon, the A.I.’s voice coming down from above. “I determined that waking you would be detrimental to your health.”

Now even his ship is rebelling against him. Rip lets out another groan, his third already that morning. 

“Well,” says Martin, “perhaps that’s a sign you should take a day off, maybe get some decent sleep in a real bed.”

“No, no, no,” says Rip dismissively, getting up and reorganizing the papers on his desk he had recently been using as a pillow. “We have a mission ahead of us. That aberration in Constantinople isn’t going to fix itself.”

“I think it can wait until you’re rested,” Martin insists.

“Yeah, no offence, man, but you look like shit,” says Jax.

“You look like a week old corpse,” says Leonard. “And I do mean offence,” he adds with a smirk.

Rip sends Snart an exasperated look. “I’m fine,” he tells the team once again, trying very hard to ignore the rough grittiness of his eyes and the leaden weariness weighing down his limbs. “I’ll just grab some coffee and we can get on with our mission.”

“Nope,” says Sara, in a matter-of-fact tone, the one she uses when she wants to let people know she's not to be messed with. “We’ll keep researching the mission. You are going to bed.

Rip blinks at her. “Excuse me? I thought I was the Captain here.”

Sara nods. “Exactly. You’re the Captain. We’re the crew. And it’s our job to look after our Captain’s wellbeing. So are you going to go to bed or do we have to drag you there kicking and screaming?”

“Please say ‘kicking and screaming’,” says Mick with an evil grin.

Rip gazes from one member of his team to the next but they all seem to be of the same mind.

“Fine,” he declares throwing his hands up into the air. “I’ll go to bed. Just don’t blow up the ship while I’m asleep.”

“Aye aye, Captain,” says Ray, throwing him a salute as he walks past.

Rip rolls his eyes. “And no messing with the timeline!” he calls out as he exits the bridge.

“Go to bed, Rip,” Sara calls back to him.

As he makes his way to his quarters, Rip lets out a jaw cracking yawn. Maybe the team is right, he admits to himself. Maybe he could use some more sleep. Not that he’s going to tell them that. He stumbles into his quarters and immediately falls into bed where he is soon sleeping again, sleeping and dreaming, dreaming about six little toddlers who invade his ship and start joyfully tearing up his precious pile of papers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still to come:  
> \- The Small Matter of Birthdays (this next I think)  
> \- I'm Not Angry. I'm Just Very Disappointed. (and then this)  
> \- A Few Home Comforts (then maybe this)  
> \- The Family Barbecue (or this)  
> \- A Little Accident Prone (where did this come from?)


	5. The Small Matter of Birthdays: Jax

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got rather long as I couldn't resist doing all the birthdays, so after much debate, I decided to split it up.

The matter first came up when the team were gathered in Rip’s study having a celebratory drink after a successful mission, or at least, a somewhat successful mission, all of the Legends were alive and the timeline wasn’t completely screwed up so they were calling it successful, and Martin was making his familiar protest about Jax not being twenty-one.

Jax made a face at this and said in an exasperated tone, “Come on, Grey. All that drinking age stuff is arbitrary crap. Besides, I’m pretty sure I am twenty-one by now.”

“No, you’re not,” Martin replied, brusquely. “You haven’t had your birthday yet. I'd have noticed.”

“Only ‘cause we haven’t been to September 2016. Enough time has passed since we left that I should be twenty-one.”

“No, it hasn’t.”

“Yes, it has.”

“No, it...”

“Gideon!” Rip called out in a desperate attempt to stop the childish argument from continuing any longer. “Would you please calculate Mr. Jackson’s chronological age for us.”

The A.I. quickly obliged. “Mr. Jackson’s age is twenty-one years, seventeen days, nine hours, and twenty-six minutes.”

“Told you,” said Jax, nodding smugly, and then his face suddenly fell. “Wait. That means I missed my twenty-first birthday.”

Sara put a consoling hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Jax.”

“Yeah, tough luck, man,” said Ray.

Rip frowned gazing at his team in confusion, not understanding the sudden somber attitudes. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid turning twenty-one is rather a big deal where we’re from,” explained Martin, offering Jax an apologetic look. “It marks the final step into true adulthood.”

“Not to mention it’s finally legal for you to get completely shitfaced,” added Mick, who was lounging in one of the armchairs, his glass of whiskey already half-finished. “Not that that stopped most of us from getting shitfaced before we hit twenty-one.”

“I see,” said Rip. The twenty-first birthday party wasn’t a coming of age ritual he’d ever been a part of, but he could understand why Jax would be upset.

“You should make it up to him,” Sara declared suddenly. “After all, it’s your fault.”

“My fault?” Rip stared at her. “How is it my fault?”

“You’re the one who brought us along on this mission. Besides, you’re the captain,” she added with a smirk. “Everything’s your fault.”

Of course, it was, thought Rip. Everything was always his fault. He gazed over at Jax. There had been so many aberrations recently they really didn’t have time to stop for a party, but Jax did look rather heartbroken, and he had been working very hard recently, and he had done quite a magnificent job modifying the bridge.

Closing his eyes, Rip hung his head and sighed. He really hoped he wouldn’t regret this.

“Alright,” he declared, straightening up and clapping his hands together. “Mr. Jackson, you get one trip anywhere in space and time, a birthday treat. Where would you like to go?”

Jax’s eyes widened. “Seriously? Anywhere I want?”

“Within reason,” Rip quickly amended. With his luck, Jax would want to go to the middle of a warzone or all the way back to see the Big Bang.

His entire face now alight, Jax rubbed his hands together biting his lip as he considered the possibilities. It didn’t take him long to come to a decision. “The Greatest Game Ever Played,” he announced.

The rest of the team looked at him blankly.

“The golf movie?” said Ray, eyebrows scrunching together in a frown.

Jax rolled his eyes. “The 1958 NFL Championship Game!” he exclaimed staring at them as if they were most clueless people he’d ever met. “The Baltimore Colts vs. the New York Giants?”

The team continued to look blank.

“It was the first championship game broadcast nationally, the game that finally made pro ball popular, the game that... Oh, forget it.”

“I take it we’re talking about American football,” said Rip, uncertainly.

“Just football,” replied Mick. “Stop being so English.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” said Martin, placing a hand on Jax’s shoulder.

“I think it’s an awesome idea,” said Ray.

“Then I guess we’re going to see a game,” said Sara. “Right, Rip?”

“We are going to see a game,” agreed Rip, nodding. It wasn’t really his sort of thing but it was a reasonable request. He’d been expecting something much worse.

“We’re still getting drunk afterwards, right?” asked Mick. “It is traditional.”

Rip sighed. It can always get worse, he reminded himself.

The trip actually went quite well except for the fact it was freezing cold, unsurprising considering they were sitting outside in New York in late December. Most of the team didn’t seem to mind much as they were constantly jumping up in their seats with the rest of the crowd while Rip huddled in his wool coat and watched his breath steam in the air as the men on the field collided with each other. Rip had never been a fan of the cold, or watching sporting events for that matter. The things he did for the team, he thought as he shivered.

Afterwards, they went out for drinks, because, as Mick had said, it was traditional, but Rip took them somewhere slightly more appropriate, as well as safer for both the team and the timeline: September 12, 2016. Jax was very pleased and preceded to drink until he passed out and had to be carried back to the ship by Rip as he was the only one left in a fit state to do so. Rip didn't mind. He was just glad Mick and Sara had kept their bar brawling down to only a minor scuffle this time.

That should have been the end of the matter or so Rip assumed. Jax woke up the next morning the happiest person to ever have a hangover and the team went back to their regular job of chasing down aberrations in the timeline. 

Then several weeks later, Ray turned up in Rip’s study with a giant grin on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They've used the actor's birthdays on the show so I am too but they messed up with Jax as he seems to have ended up with two different ages. In one episode, Martin says Jax isn't quite 21, and in another when they go back to rescue baby Jax, it says he's born in 1993 like Franz Drameh which would mean he's turning 23. So for the sake of the story, I went with the first age.
> 
> Next Birthday: Ray


	6. The Small Matter of Birthdays: Ray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 100 kudos! Thank you so much! I really appreciate every kudos and every comment. They mean a lot to me.

“Hey, Rip,” said Ray, sidling over to where the captain stood by the large screen at the back of the study. 

“Dr. Palmer,” Rip replied as he continued examining the data displayed there.

Ray shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. “You probably don’t know this," he said, casually, "but my birthday’s coming up. I had Gideon calculate my chronological age and it turns out in a few days time I’m turning 39.”

Rip’s forehead furrowed. “Congratulations,” he said, wondering why Ray was bringing this up. 

“Thanks,” said Ray. “Anyway, I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and I think I’ve finally decided where I want to go for my birthday treat.”

Rip turned and stared at him. “Your what?”

“My birthday treat,” Ray repeated. “You know the trip anywhere in space and time I’d like to go.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Rip hastily, waving his hands. “I never said everyone was getting a birthday trip.”

Ray’s face fell. Sara had once described Ray as looking like a giant puppy dog and Rip suddenly understood why. He grimaced. It was a bad idea, he told himself, a really bad idea. He knew he shouldn't do it, but it wasn’t like Ray didn’t deserve a trip any less than Jax. He had been working just as hard and Kendra's departure had been rather hard on him.

Taking in a deep breath, Rip offered up a quick prayer and said, “Alright. Where would you like to go?”

Ray beamed. “Well, I would have asked to see the old West but we’ve already done that and I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids being built but I’m kind of over Egypt after the whole Savage thing. There’s a ton of historical figures I’d like to meet, of course, but it’s hard to pick just one, and we’ve been to so many great places already and I’m sure we’re going to go to so many more, so I thought we could go somewhere that I’ve always wanted to go to but we’ll probably never get to see because well, frankly it’s not like there’d ever be a time aberration way out there.”

“Out where?” Rip prompted when Ray paused in his babbling.

“Antarctica,” said Ray. “I want to go to Antarctica to see the penguins.”

“Antarctica?” said Rip, drawing out the word.

“Yup,” replied Ray with a grin.

“You want to go to Antarctica to see the penguins?”

“Yup.”

“You have all of time and space to choose from and you want to go to the coldest place on Earth to look at birds?”

“Yup,” Ray replied for the third time, his smile just as bright and unwavering.

Rip slid a hand through his hair. “You do know,” he said in a last desperate attempt to dissuade Ray, “that depending on when you go back, you may very well end up celebrating your 39th birthday twice.”

“I know,” said Ray. “Isn’t that awesome!”

Rip resisted the urge to slap his hand against his forehead. “Fine, fine. I’ll let the others know.”

Of course, Ray didn’t just want to see any penguins. He wanted to see emperor penguins, baby emperor penguins. Jax blamed some movie Rip had never heard of. Unfortunately, emperor penguins happened to be the only members of the species that bred in the middle of winter. This meant in order to see the babies they had to go during the southern spring when temperatures were still sixty degrees below zero. Rip chose a time when emperor penguins were plentiful in the Antarctic and humans weren’t so they didn’t have to worry about anyone catching sight of them and causing a disruption to the timeline which meant they could wear high-tech, cold weather gear, but even with the gear, it was still way beyond freezing.

The other Legends didn’t seem to mind. They were completely enamoured with the penguins the moment they saw them. The colony they found was enormous, hundreds of the black and white birds huddling together, craning their necks as they gazed about, waddling back and forth, and sliding along on their fat bellies. The air was filled with a cacophony of trilling caws. 

Rip felt rather nervous among the massive crowd of birds but the rest of the team happily dived right in cooing over the little fluffy babies. Even Mick seemed to find the penguins amusing. As the Legends busied themselves with the birds, Rip stayed back standing on the ice with his arms wrapped around himself to keep warm, keeping one eye on the birds and another on the team to make sure none of the them decided to kidnap a baby penguin and take it back to the Waverider. The babies were after all, even Rip had to admit, ridiculously cute. 

When they’d had enough of the penguins, Rip assumed they would return to the nice warm ship, but since there was snow, someone suggested sledding, so spare pieces of hull plating were fetched and they used them to sled down the glaciers, Rip joining in after much cajoling. This led to the inevitable snowball fight, or perhaps snowball war would be a more accurate description. There were two teams at the start but there was so much switching of sides, betrayals, and rebellions that in the end it became a complete melee with each Legend fighting for themselves. Rip was pounded by snowballs but proudly gave as good as he got displaying a surprising amount of accuracy as he battled against his team.

At the end of the day, they finally returned to Waverider, divesting themselves of their snow-covered cold weather gear and retiring to the galley for hot chocolate and cupcakes where the events of the day were gone over in enthusiastic detail.

“This was the best birthday ever,” said Ray somewhere between his third and fourth cupcake. “Thanks, Rip.”

Rip’s only response was a sneeze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ray gets two extra years added to his age because of his time in the 1950s. I have no idea why he wanted to see penguins though. It just seemed like something he'd enjoy.
> 
> Next birthday: Sara


	7. The Small Matter of Birthdays: Sara

After that day, Rip knew he was doomed, knew that despite his numerous protests that this was not what he had intended, there was no stopping it, no going back, no chance the matter would be conveniently forgotten as they busied themselves fighting time criminals across the timeline. 

He had given two of the team special trips for their birthdays and now they all wanted one.

His cold lasted for almost a week, because sometimes even the Waverider’s advanced medical technology can’t handle a persistent virus, but even before it was over, he caught several of the Legends chatting about where they’d like to go on their ‘trips’. Before long, a list mysteriously appeared on one of the screens in the galley containing the team’s names with numbers beside each one counting down the days. Even Jax and Ray’s names were on the list. 

“Have to be ready for next year,” Jax said when Rip asked them about it.

“Next year?” said Rip, his feeling of inescapable doom growing stronger.

“Yeah,” said Ray. “I was thinking for my next birthday we could go to the moon in 1969 and get a close up view of Neil Armstrong’s first steps on the surface, or maybe we could watch Michelangelo paint the Sistine Chapel, or go sailing for a day on the HMS Beagle with Charles Darwin, or check out the library of Alexandria before it burns down, or find out who really built Stonehenge.” He paused. “Wait,” he said, narrowing his eyes at Rip. “Do you know who built Stonehenge? Was it aliens? Please tell me it was aliens.”

“No,” Rip replied tiredly, and then reluctantly corrected himself. “Well, yes, sort of. It’s a long story.”

Jax gave him an incredulous look. “You make it sound like you were actually there.”

Rip grimaced. “Never trust a druid,” was all he said, quickly leaving before either could ask anymore about that rather unfortunate adventure.

As the days passed, the numbers on the list continued counting down like the timer on a particularly slow bomb, a constant reminder every time Rip entered the galley, so when Sara arrived in the library with a smile on her face a few days before her number was about to hit zero, he had a pretty good idea of what she wanted to talk to him about and it turned out he was right.

Sara leaned across the desk at which he sat and said without any preamble, “You know what I want for my birthday?”

“No idea,” said Rip, not bothering to look up from his work, acting nonchalant while at the same time bracing himself for what was to come.

“Christmas,” said Sara, simply.

This time Rip couldn’t help looking up. “Christmas?” he said, gazing at her with raised eyebrows.

“Christmas,” Sara repeated with a nod.

For a moment, Rip continued to stare at her in disbelief, and then he threw his hands up into the air. “Right. Fine. Brilliant,” he exclaimed sarcastically. “Shall we go to the North Pole to see Father Christmas himself? After all, we’ve already done the South Pole. We should do both. Maybe this time I’ll catch pneumonia.”

Sara reached over and smacked him on the arm. “No grumbling.”

Rip grimaced and rubbed his arm. A smack on the arm was infinitely better than a punch in the face but Sara happened to be rather strong.

“My birthday’s in December,” Sara explained, “only a few days after Christmas which means we’ve missed the holiday and we need to celebrate.”

“We do?” said Rip, glumly.

“We do,” said Sara in her ‘I was a member of the league of assassins so don’t fuck with me’ voice.

Rip rubbed his forehead feeling a familiar headache building. “Alright,” he said. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

As it turned out, Sara had had a German grandmother who always talked about the amazing Christmas markets in Munich, so that’s where they ended up, at the Christkindlmarkt, December 23, 1964, strolling between the wooden huts, listening to brass bands play carols, and admiring all the glittering decorations while they pigged out on gingerbread and mulled wine. At least it was warmer than Antarctica, Rip consoled himself digging his hands deeper into his coat’s pockets. Sara had wrapped a striped scarf around his neck and shoved a red tuque onto his head insisting they couldn’t let him get sick again and grinning the entire time. 

Rip meant to keep a close eye on the team to ensure they didn’t get into their usual trouble but the market was fairly crowded. He took a moment to gaze up at the enormous Christmas tree standing outside the town hall and when he looked back they had all disappeared. When he was finally able to gather them all together once more, Martin was supporting a rather ill Jax who had had far too much food and far too many rides on the carousel, Ray was carrying a surprisingly large bag of ornaments which he was threatening to use to decorate the Waverider, Sara was saying goodbye to a very tall, blond woman with a satisfied grin on her face, and Mick had set fire to one of the huts though he insisted it was an accident.

Apparently, there was something called feuerzangenbowle. Rip didn’t understand exactly what it was but it had something to do with mulled wine, sugar, and fire which when combined with Mick had unsurprisingly ended with a hut burning down. Deciding they’d overstayed their welcome, Rip quickly ushered them out of the market before someone could come looking for Mick.

They ended up rounding off the day with a horse drawn sleigh ride through the hills outside the city. The snow covered countryside was beautiful and Rip was surprised to find he was actually enjoying the ride though he couldn’t help wishing for a moment that his family was there to see it.

“No moping,” said Sara, smacking his arm again. “It’s my birthday and it’s not allowed.”

Rip was about to protest but changed his mind when Sara took his arm and curled up against his side. After all, there were people she was no doubt missing too.

Most of the rest of the sleigh ride was spent singing Christmas carols, several of which had yet to be written thoroughly confusing their poor sleigh driver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I don't know exactly what happened to Rip at Stonehenge but it involved him thwarting an alien invasion and almost getting sacrificed on the altar stone.
> 
> 2\. All of time and space and this is the sort of thing they choose? Either they're lacking in imagination or I am. I just felt that after everything Sara has been through, she would feel like doing something comforting and homey.
> 
> 3\. Feuerzangenbowle involves lighting a rum soaked sugar cone on fire and hanging it over some mulled wine. It doesn't seem wise to let that sort of thing near Mick.
> 
> 4\. Um, Merry Christmas? Maybe I should have kept this fic for later.
> 
> Next birthday: Mick!


	8. The Family Barbeque

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Interrupting the birthday stories for a quick surprise crossover. This is a short scene that I've had in my head since way back in April and I decided I'd better write it and get it out before the actual canon crossover happens.

“So you’re the one in charge of this...” Oliver gestured with the beer in his hand at the Legends who were busy mingling with the rest of the people currently gathered in the park. “...team?” Oliver concluded.

“Unfortunately,” said Rip, the word coming out more like a sigh.

Barry raised his eyebrows giving him an incredulous look. “And they actually listen to you?”

“Not as much as I like,” Rip replied and took a sip of his beer.

The sun was shinning down on the first annual Teams Arrow and Flash and Friends Barbeque and it was quite a crowd which had taken over the normally quiet park in Central City, eating, drinking, chatting, and playing a rather odd, and surprisingly violent, game of frisbee. The Teams Arrow and Flash and Friends’ Barbeque was what they were currently calling it though the name clearly needed some work. Barry’s friend Cisco wanted to call it the SuperFriends’ Barbeque but the name had met with some resistance, so they were stuck with the overly convoluted one for now.

Leonard, who had apparently been listening to the three men talk, sauntered over and leaned casually on Rip’s shoulder. “Actually, we only let him think he’s in charge,” he said. “In reality, we just keep him around because he makes pretty speeches and looks good in that coat of his.”

Rip rolled his eyes. “Yes. Thank you, Mr. Snart. If you really want to make yourself useful, how about you go tell Sara to stop flirting with Supergirl. The last thing we need is to have her embroiled in some love affair with an alien from another universe.”

Cocking his head to the side, Snart smirked and said, “I would but I rather like the way they look together. Don’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively before sauntering off once more in the direction of Sara and Kara.

Barry shook his head as he watched Leonard walk away. “It’s nice to know I was right about Snart, but seriously, having both him and Rory on your team must be quite a handful.”

“Not to mention Sara,” said Oliver. “She had a knack for getting into trouble even before she became an assassin, and then you've got Ray. He might mean well but he does have a tendency to let his enthusiasm get away with him.”

“Yeah,” Barry agreed. “Professor Stein’s the same way. His enthusiasm, and his stubbornness for that matter, has gotten him into a lot of trouble.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “Jax can’t be that bad though.”

Rip let out a weary huff of air. “I wish I could say that was true but I’m afraid Jefferson has a tendency to think with his heart rather than his head and that has lead him into several rather unfortunate situations.” He spotted something across the park. “Excuse me,” he said, and then raising his voice yelled over at small group who were clustered together, heads bent, deep in conversation. “Oy, you lot! Enough of that! I don’t care what experiment you’re planning on running. You’re not bringing it on board my ship!”

The conspirators, Martin, Ray, Cisco, and Felicity, turned to him with guilty looks on their faces.

“And no using parts from the Waverider either!” Rip added.

With glum expressions, the group slowly dispersed.

Barry’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

“I can tell,” said Rip. “Trust me. I’ve developed a sixth sense for this sort of thing. I’ve had to.”

“I take it your team likes to keep you on your toes?” said Oliver with an amused smirk.

“They like trying to give me a heart attack,” Rip grumbled, taking another swig of his beer as he watched the Legends circulate among the jubilant picnickers. “I swear one of these days I’ll...” He stopped and sighed. “Not again.” He turned to where several people were gathered around a picnic table and cried, “Sara, how many times do I have to tell you not to use your throwing knives to cut up food!”

Sara gave him a one-fingered salute in reply and continued slicing pieces of watermelon.

Oliver snorted. “And I thought my new team was a pain.”

“They’re not really that bad,” said Rip. “Honestly, they’re not. They just... Damn it.” He raised his voice once more. “Snart, give Mr. Diggle back his wallet!”

Leonard sent Rip an exasperated look but handed the leather wallet back to Diggle much to the poor man’s confusion.

“Did he just...” said Oliver, pointing at Snart with a frown.

Barry winced. “Yeah, he does that.”

Rip shook his head. "I may have lost my only child but some days it feels like I've gained six more."

“And you’re seriously trying to tell me they’re not that bad?” said Oliver, eyebrows raised in disbelief.

Rip waved a hand in the air and nodded concedingly. “They are admittedly undisciplined, belligerent, headstrong, impulsive, reckless, and perpetually aggravating.” He took a deep breath. “But,” he continued, “they are also intelligent, resourceful, courageous, steadfast, compassionate to a fault, and have given me back hope countless times when I thought all was lost.” He gave the two men a wry grin. “Best not to tell them that though. It might give them ideas.”

The other men matched his grin with ones of their own.

Turning back to the gathering of heroes, Rip spotted Jax leaving the increasingly chaotic frisbee game. The young man grabbed Martin’s arm and began pulling the Professor in the direction of Kara, a giant grin on his face.

“No flying competitions!” Rip yelled after them, and then sighed. “Of course, they will probably drive me completely insane before too long.”

“But you wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world,” said Barry with a knowing smile.

Rip gazed at his team watching as they enjoyed themselves among their extended family. He tried to imagine his life without them and found he really didn’t want to. “Not a thing,” he said softly. 

The moment was broken, however, when Rip’s eyes caught a rather worrying sight. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” he cried. “Will someone please keep Mr. Rory away from the barbeque!” Mick was approaching the barbeque with a manic grin on his face and a bottle of lighter fluid in one hand. Excusing himself from his fellow team leaders, Rip hastened over hoping to get there in time to stop the inevitable and once again cursing whichever god had set forth to saddle him with such a maddening team.


	9. The Small Matter of Birthdays: Mick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And back to the birthdays...

It would be over a month until there was another birthday but Rip watched the numbers count down beside the next name with a particular dread. He told himself he was worrying too much, that the past birthday trips may have been trials but not complete disasters, and yet he couldn’t help being concerned about just what sort of place Mick Rory would like to go to for his birthday.

Mick left things to the last minute, not bothering to tell Rip what he wanted until the actual day, prolonging the captain’s worry and making him wonder if perhaps Mick didn’t want a birthday trip after all. His hopes were dashed however when the pyromaniac arrived on the bridge that morning with an expectant grin on his face and said, “We ready for my trip?”

“It’s hard to be ready when we don’t actually know where we’re going,” Rip replied, peevishly.

His trepidation must have been evident because Mick clapped him on the back, though with rather more force than Rip thought necessary, and said, “Don’t worry, Captain. I’ve got the perfect spot picked out. You’ll love it.”

Rip sincerely doubted that. “I wouldn’t have thought you were the sort to celebrate birthdays.”

“I’m not,” said Mick. “But you don’t think I’m going to pass up an opportunity like this.”

Rip sighed wearily. “At least, tell me it’s somewhere warm.”

Mick’s eyes practically glowed. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “Real warm.”

And then he told them exactly where he wanted to go.

Rip’s shoulders slumped and he cast his eyes upward, sending a pleading look to the heavens, a silent cry of ‘why me?’ Upon returning his gaze to Mr. Rory though he saw the eagerness in his expression, the honest joy at the prospect of the trip, so instead of going to his study to bang his head against his desk or retreating to his quarters to hide under the covers as he felt like doing, Rip girded himself for what was to come and set about arranging Mick’s birthday treat.

Fulfilling Mick’s request, however, proved rather more difficult than the previous ones. The others trips hadn’t required much more than dressing in the appropriate clothing and finding a convenient place to park the Waverider. This trip took a bit of research, some careful planning, and a little delicate manoeuvring, but eventually they managed to get to the right spot, and the whole team was able to look down on the sight Mick had so wanted to see. 

Mick had been right about one thing, Rip thought as he stared in shock at the city in front of him. It was warm.

“Wow,” said Ray as he gazed at it. “That’s...”

“Something else,” said Sara, shaking her head. “It’s...”

Jax nodded. “Yeah, it’s really... I mean...”

“Quite,” added Martin.

“It’s utterly awesome,” said Mick, a manic grin spreading across his face.

Attempting to add his own opinion, Rip took in a deep breath and immediately began to cough as smoke filled his lungs. Once he’d gotten the coughing under control, he managed to say hoarsely, “To some people perhaps.”

Mick turned to him with genuine confusion. “You don’t like it?”

Rip rolled his eyes. “Unlike you, Mr. Rory, it’s not my fondest wish to see my home town burn to the ground!”

“Huh,” Mick said and shrugging his shoulders, went back to watching the city burn.

Technically, it wouldn’t be Rip’s home for a few centuries but he still had no desire to see it turn to ash. 

It was September 3, 1666, and London was burning. It had already been burning for over a day and would continue burning for a couple more, the fire spreading quickly through the wooden buildings. The Legends were watching from, appropriately enough for Mr. Rory, the parapets surrounding the Tower of London since they knew it was one of the few places that wouldn’t be burnt to the ground. This had only been made possible through a little trickery, a few disguises, and the fact most of the guards were more concerned by the fire currently consuming the surrounding city than a few strangers.

“Ooh, what was that?” asked Ray pointing at a particular structure as it tumbled to the ground.

Rip tiredly told him. The other Legends actually seemed to really get into watching the blaze, after they had been reassured few deaths were attributed to it, and during the long hours they spent standing on the parapet, Rip ended up playing tour guide as he named all the buildings as they caught fire and were turned into blackened rubble.

Mick’s second request to round off the day was a simple one, a visit to a specific bar in 2016. Actually, his original request was a trip to a strip club but Rip quickly vetoed that idea much to Jax’s, and surprisingly or perhaps not so surprisingly Sara’s, dismay. Mick insisted this bar had the best drinks though Rip later wondered if the drinks were the real reason Mick had chosen the place considering the inevitable brawl they ended up in was rather enthusiastic and managed to involve every single one of the bar’s current patrons. The Legends won, of course, but not before sustaining between them multiple bruises, four cracked ribs, three black eyes, two concussions, and a knife wound.

Rip dragged the team back to the Waverider glad to have survived. 

At least, Mick had been the happiest he’d seen him in a long time, thought Rip as he sat on the chair in the med bay while Gideon fixed the gash the knife had left in his leg.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor Rip. I will start being nicer to him eventually.
> 
> Next birthday: Martin


	10. The Small Matter of Birthdays: Martin

The next birthday Rip was much less worried about. After all, Martin was one of the more sensible members of the team. At least as the eldest, he was supposed to be. However, when Martin approached him on the bridge a few days before his birthday with a pronounced bounce in his step and a childish grin on his face, Rip began to wonder if he had been quite right in his assumptions.

“I assume you’ve made your choice,” said Rip, looking up from Gideon’s analysis of the timeline which was currently displayed on the main console in the middle of the room.

“Oh, I made my choice ages ago,” said Martin with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ve been dreaming about an opportunity like this for decades. Of course, it took a little research to find the precise date I wanted but I believe I’ve found it: August 25th, 1893.”

Rip searched back through his extensive knowledge of history but the date meant nothing to him. “And where exactly did you want to go?”

“The Chicago’s World Fair,” Martin declared, his eyes gleaming. “We have to go to August 25th because that’s when I know Tesla is going to be there. He gives a lecture on mechanical and electrical oscillators to the members of the International Electrical Congress.”

Rip raised his eyebrows. “So it’s Nikola Tesla you want to see?”

“The man’s absolutely brilliant,” said Martin. He began pacing the room as he went on. “An amazing visionary, way ahead of his time, and such an astounding intellect. I mean the sheer amount of inventions attributed to him alone.” Clasping his hands together, he turned back to Rip. “I was thinking we could attend his lecture, and then arrange to meet up with him, have a bit of a conversation, perhaps convince him to join us for dinner?”

“You will be careful with what you say to him,” said Rip, earnestly. “The man is rather important to the timeline. If you were to lead him astray, give him information about future scientific discoveries...”

“Of course, of course,” said Martin, waving his hand again. “I’ll be careful.” He sighed, dreamily. “Just imagine. Nikola Tesla.”

Rip sighed too but his sigh was full of exasperation. Obviously, there was no such thing as sensible when it came to this team.

The rest of the crew were all for going to the Chicago’s World Fair but while Ray was almost as excited as Martin at the prospect of meeting Tesla, there was no way Jax, Mick, and Sara were going to listen to a lecture on mechanical and electrical oscillators. They were much more interested in exploring the various pavilions and riding the world’s first Ferris wheel.

Opting to go with Martin and Ray, Rip said to the others, “Now can I trust you to behave this time and stay out of trouble?”

Rolling his eyes, Jax gave an emphatic nod while Mick just as emphatically shook his head.

Sara placed what was probably meant to be a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “Despite what you might think, we aren’t some group of reckless hoodlums.”

“You aren’t? That's news to me,” Rip said, and then quickly dodged out of the way as she tried to smack him.

The lecture went well enough. It was interesting though not quite Rip’s cup of tea, science being more a means to an end than a passion for him like it was for Ray and Martin, but the lecture was undoubtedly more peaceful than whatever the rest of the team were getting up to and he could use some peace and quiet for once. Martin seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself and his near constant grin grew even brighter when they managed to get a hold of Tesla once the lecture was over. A tall, finely dressed man with deep set eyes, Nikola Tesla proved to have a quick wit and a surprisingly good sense of humour. The three scientists were soon in an animated conversation about his recent inventions. It fact it was such an overly enthusiastic conversation that Martin and Ray often strayed into rather dangerous territory forcing Rip to keep stepping on their feet as a reminder to be careful.

Martin was just about to invite Tesla out for dinner when Rip heard a beep from his comlink.

“Uh, Rip?” came Sara’s voice over the link.

Rip quickly excused himself. “What have you done now?” he demanded once he was out of hearing range.

“Nothing,” Sara protested, unconvincingly. “I just wanted to let you know we’ve left the exposition and are going to the Wild West show across the road.”

“You left?” said Rip in surprise.

“More sort of got kicked out.”

Groaning, Rip ran a hand through his hair. “How the hell did you manage that?”

“Well, there was a bit of an incident involving Jax, some idiots, and these watermelons,” Sara replied.

“At least, tell me no one was hurt.”

“Only the watermelons.”

Rip shook his head in disbelief. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll meet back at the ship. Just try not to get into any more trouble.”

Sighing, Rip turned back to the scientists only to find that while he’d been gone the passionate conversation had turned into a raging argument. Rip rushed over and quickly intervened pulling Martin and Ray away and thanking Tesla for his time.

“Honestly,” Martin fumed as Rip led them out of the lecture hall. “How can a man so brilliant refuse to believe in the basic existence of electrons. I mean, seriously...”

Rip patted him on the shoulder consolingly. “Come on,” he said. “There’s still plenty of time to check out the rest of the fair.”

Back out in the fair among the crowds of the people, they wandered around the many pools, waterways, and fountains, and in and out of the large exhibition halls, white, neoclassical buildings several of which were decorated with red splatters of watermelon which Rip pointedly ignored. They visited the Electricity Building, the Machinery Hall, the Manufactures and Liberal Arts Building, and more. They rode a moving walkway, a captive hot air balloon, and the Ferris Wheel. Thankfully, Martin’s temper was soon quelled and he was able to have a good time. The fair was so large they didn’t even manage to see half of it, but they stayed late enough to see the lights of the fair turned on and to watch the people marvel at the new electric lightbulb.

Even Rip had to admit it was quite spectacular though he emerged from the fair incredibly tired and footsore.

When they returned to the ship, they were reunited with the rest of the team and Rip was pleased to find they had managed to avoid burning down Buffalo Bill’s Wild West show. All he had left to deal with was a disappointed Ray who was upset to have missed out on the chance to see it. Considering most of the team hadn't seen much of the fair before they were kicked out and Martin was rather keen on seeing the stuff he hadn't had the chance to get to, it took a lot of effort to convince them they were not allowed another day to make up for what they’d missed.

“One day, one trip,” Rip exclaimed to them. “That’s all you lot get and it’s more than enough. I never meant for any of these bloody trips to happen in the first place. Thankfully, there are no more birthdays for another six months, and I, for one, plan on enjoying the well deserved break.”

And he stormed off in the direction of his study completely failing to notice the way Sara’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully in his direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Martin was the easiest one to come up with a trip for because he says exactly where he'd like to go on an episode of The Flash.
> 
> 2\. I can't completely guarantee the historical accuracy of this, but Nikola Tesla did give that lecture on August 25th and by coincidence that day was also what the fair declared as 'Negro Day' and they seriously thought it was a good idea to celebrate by handing out free watermelons to everyone who happened to be black.
> 
> 3\. And yes, Nikola Tesla might have been brilliant but he did not believe in the existence of electrons.
> 
> 4\. Jax = September baby. Ray = October baby. Sara = December baby. Mick = February baby. Martin = March baby. Rip = ?????
> 
> Next birthday: Rip


	11. Not Angry. Just Very Disappointed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rip's birthday fic is at 2762 words so far and I only just got to the good bit, so here is something to tide you over until I finish it.

“And another thing...” Rip cut himself off, stopping in mid-lecture, and gazed at the team gathered in front of him around the bridge’s main console. 

The Legends looked weary and miserable. It had been a tough mission, one which had nearly ended in complete disaster, and perhaps berating them right at that moment wasn’t the best idea. Rip really didn’t mean to keep lecturing them but sometimes they simply drove him insane. The team had such potential for greatness. If only they were more careful with the timeline, and their own lives for that matter.

“Listen,” he said, clasping his hands together as he started again. “I know it was a difficult mission. The events we were involved in were rather distressing and there were a lot of tough calls and hard decisions to make, but we made a mess of things out there and I know you can do better.” He sighed heavily. “I’m not really angry with you. I’m just disappointed.”

Rip leaned against the console casting his gaze to the ground, which is how he ended up missing the twitch of Sara’s lips and the flash of amusement in her eyes. He looked up again when he felt her wrap an arm around his and he found her gazing at him, her face the perfect picture of dismay, her eyes shining with a pleading hope a shade too innocent. 

“But you still love us right?”

“What?” he sputtered, staring at her wide-eyed.

“He doesn’t love us anymore,” declared Ray, quickly catching on. He pouted his bottom lip but the laughter in his eyes ruined the effect.

Jax snickered. “Awe,” he said, “I’m hurt,” and snickered again.

“I personally will be forever heartbroken,” said Martin, grinning.

Mick crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. “I knew you never really cared about us.”

Rip stared at them, flabbergasted.

They gazed back with exaggerated expressions of mock sadness. 

“This is ridiculous,” he said. “You can’t seriously...”

The bottom lips grew larger. Jax let out a loud sniff.

Rip put his face in his hands. He knew they were joking. He knew they were just teasing him but he couldn’t exactly say no.

“Well,” said Sara, looking expectantly at him, her grip tightening on his arm.

“Alright. Fine,” he said, feeling the blood heating his face. “I do love you,” he muttered quietly.

“What was that?” asked Ray holding a hand to his ear.

“Yeah, I didn’t quite catch it,” said Jax.

“Something possibly about love?” suggested Martin. “I couldn’t really make it out.”

Rip groaned. He was never going to live this one down. “I love you,” he repeated louder, sure at this point he must be bright red.

Mick raised his eyebrows. “All of us?”

“Yes, I love all you!” Rip yelled glaring at them. “Now get out of my sight before I shove the lot of you out the airlock!”

The team hurried away laughing and looking much happier than before. Rip shot Sara a look before she left and she just grinned smugly back at him. 

Sighing, Rip went to get a drink. This team was definitely going to drive him insane. That is if they didn’t give him a heart attack first.

Technically though, he admitted to himself as he poured a glass of whiskey and quickly drowned it, what they’d made him say was completely and utterly true.


	12. The Small Matter of Birthdays: Rip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes things get a little out of control and short pieces suddenly become 6000 words long. I really hope you enjoy it. It starts rather more serious than the others but then the craziness begins again.
> 
> Dedicated to my own dad who I love immensely. He's a lot calmer and more easygoing than Rip but he is English and he does have a beard.

With no more birthdays in the near future, life on board the Waverider resumed its normal routine of chasing aberration after aberration, and Rip was perfectly happy with that. It meant he only had to deal with the usual chaos and danger that accompanied their missions and not that which came with the team’s increasingly bizarre birthday requests. He thought it was over. He thought he was safe, and then one day while he was fetching himself a drink in his study, a glass of a fine brandy he’d acquired sometime in the 18th century, he turned around to find Sara standing directly behind him, arms folded across her chest and a reproachful look in her eyes.

Rip’s heart leapt violently in his chest, and it was only through a great deal of effort that he managed to stop himself from jumping and dropping his drink. He cursed silently as his fingers tightened around the glass, his knuckles turning white. You’d have thought that after all this time he’d have gotten used to having an assassin on board his ship.

“Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Lance?” he asked acting calm and collected and pretending not to be the least bit effected by her sudden appearance.

The tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth indicated he hadn’t fooled her in the slightest. “We need to talk,” she said.

“About what?”

“About the small matter of birthdays.”

“If I'm not mistaken those are all over until Mr. Jackson’s comes around again in six months time,” Rip said and took a sip of his brandy. “Unless of course,” he added hopefully, “you’ve managed to convince the team that once was enough and we don’t have to go through the whole ordeal again next year.”

“I think it’s a little late for that,” Sara replied with a wry smile. “But the problem is we seem to have missed one.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” said Rip, shaking his head emphatically. “We celebrated everyone’s birthday. I know. I counted. There was Jax’s trip to 1950s New York to sit in the cold and watch men run around a field with a ball, there was Ray’s trip to the coldest place on Earth to look at birds, there was your trip to 1960s Germany to celebrate Christmas, there was Mick’s trip to the 15th century to watch London burn, and there was Martin’s trip to the Chicago’s World Fair from which I still have blisters on my feet. That’s it, all five. So unless there’s another crew member no one’s told me about...”

“You, you idiot,” Sara exclaimed interrupting Rip’s rant. “We haven’t done your birthday yet.”

“Oh,” said Rip, dumbstruck. “I... um...” The fact she’d meant him, the fact anyone would want to celebrate his birthday simply hadn’t occurred to him.

“We need to celebrate your birthday too,” Sara went on. “So when is it? Did we miss it already?”

Rip held up a hand and said, “That really isn’t necessary.” Turning away, he downed the rest of his brandy and placed the empty glass down beside the bottle. For a moment, he debated whether or not to pour himself another, but though it was tempting, decided against it.

“Of course, it’s necessary,” said Sara. “We’re not going to celebrate everyone else’s birthday and not yours.”

“That’s very thoughtful,” said Rip as he turned back to her, “but I don’t normally celebrate it and I see no reason to start now.” He crossed to the other side of the study and began absently rearranging the contents of his desk.

Unfortunately, Sara, who was not so easily deterred, followed him. “Why not?” she said. “Those birthday trips have been fun. They’ve been a welcome break from all the stress of chasing time aberrations.”

“You mean they’ve been near disasters,” Rip corrected her, still playing with the items on his desk.

“No more than the rest of our lives.” Apparently growing tired of his attempts at ignoring her, Sara grabbed the books currently in his hands and slammed them back on the desk. “Why don’t you want to celebrate?”

Rip scowled at her but said nothing.

“Is it your age?” Sara asked, teasingly, raising her eyebrows. “Scared of growing old? How old are you anyway?”

“Isn’t that a rather personal question?” said Rip, a half-hearted attempt at deflection.

Sara gave him a look obviously not buying it. “You already know all our ages.”

Rip’s jaw tightened and he remained silent.

“Don’t make me ask Gideon,” said Sara with mock sternest.

Their eyes locked and stayed locked for several moments as they each waited for the other to make the first move.

It was Sara who acted first. “Gideon?”

“Gideon, don’t you dare,” Rip called out a fraction of a second later.

“Captain Hunter is approximately 34 years old,” the A.I. announced.

Rip slapped a hand against his forehead. The computer was obviously growing much too fond of their new crew.

“Ha!” Sara cried, a look of triumph on her face, and then her forehead furrowed once more. “Wait, seriously? You’re only 34?”

Rip gave an amused snort. “Are you implying I look older?” 

“No, no,” Sara replied, shaking her head. “It’s just... You said the Waverider’s been your ship for 13 years. That would mean you were only 21 when you started. You were flying around on your own chasing down time criminals at 21?”

Rip shrugged as if was no big deal which to him it wasn’t. “It’s slightly younger than average for a Time Master but not that unusual.”

Sara continued to stare at him in astonishment. 

It was at times like this Rip was reminded that he and his crew grew up in very different worlds. “It’s really not that big a deal.”

From the look on Sara’s face, he could tell she didn’t agree with him, but she said no more on the subject. Instead, she asked, “Why ‘approximately’ 34? Gideon knows all our ages down to the minute. How can she not know yours?”

Rip winced. That was the one thing he’d really hoped she wouldn’t ask.

“Is it some sort of Time Master thing?” said Sara when he didn’t immediately reply.

“Sort of,” Rip said, hesitantly. He tried to come up with a plausible excuse, but before he could, Gideon once more proved her fondness for Sara.

“I can not give an accurate age,” the A.I. told her, “because no birthdate for Captain Hunter exists on record.”

“Come again?” said Sara, confused. “Are you saying even you don’t know when Rip’s birthday is?”

“That is correct,” Gideon replied.

Sara’s eyes bored into Rip’s demanding answers.

Rip took a deep breath and slowly let it out. Apparently, there was no avoiding the issue any longer. “Gideon doesn’t know when I was born,” he explained, “because I don’t know when I was born.”

“What? How can you not know?” Sara asked, taking a step towards him.

Rip in contrast moved away crossing the room again back to the forgotten bottle of brandy, deciding he would have that second glass after all. “As you are aware,” he said as he poured out the amber liquid, “I didn’t grow up under the best of circumstances.” He put the glass to his lips, finishing half of it in one go.

“Yeah, you mentioned the whole orphaned cutpurse thing,” said Sara.

Rip’s voice grew distant. “Yes, the orphaned cutpurse thing.” He took a seat, slumping down in one of the study’s leather chairs, the glass still clutched in one hand. He continued speaking but avoided Sara’s eyes, unable to handle the pity he might see there. “I was orphaned at rather a young age, ended up on the streets doing what I could to survive, not the ideal place for celebrating birthdays, and what life I had before that I can scarcely recall. I certainly don’t recall having a birthday.”

“But afterwards you were at the Refuge,” Sara pointed out. “The Time Masters took you in.”

Rip nodded. “Yes, but it wasn’t like I had a convenient piece of paper to say I was born on such and such a date, and celebrating birthdays wasn’t something the Time Masters really encouraged.” He finished the rest of his drink focusing on the burn in his throat rather the shadows of memories which were trying to haunt him. Still unwilling to meet Sara’s eyes, he stared instead at the empty glass.

There was a moment of silence, and then Sara said, “So what.”

Rip looked up in surprise. There was no pity in Sara’s eyes, only sympathy and a lot of stubborn determination.

“You’re not an orphaned cutpurse anymore and you’re not a Time Master,” she said. “Pick a day and celebrate. Who cares if it’s not the right one.”

“Celebrate what?” said Rip, morosely. 

Sara shrugged. “You, life, the fact you’re not dead yet,” she said. “Birthdays are days for taking a break, for treating yourself, and I can’t think of anyone who deserves that more than you.” 

Rip let out a contemptuous huff of air. “And what exactly would I do?”

“Whatever the hell you want,” said Sara, tossing her hands into the air. “All of time and space, remember? Where do you want to go?”

Rip knew he was letting self-pity take over again but he couldn’t stop himself. “There’s only one place I want to go,” he told her, his voice darkening. “And you know I can’t.” 

Sara sighed, loudly. “To see Miranda and Jonas,” she said, saying the names he couldn’t bring himself to. “I get it. I do, but you can still celebrate...”

“I’d really rather not,” said Rip, shaking his head. “If I were to suddenly start celebrating my birth, I’d want to do it with my family, and since I can’t, what’s the point?”

“Rip,” Sara protested, trying to get through to him one more time.

“Thank you, but no.” Rip got up deciding a third glass of brandy was in order. Turning his back to her, he once more filled his glass. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Sara,” he said, his voice taking on a more austere, authoritarian tone, what the team like to call his captain’s voice, “but you’re fighting for a lost cause. There will be no celebrating of my birthday or whatever day you’d like to pretend is my birthday. You’ll just have to wait until Mr. Jackson turns 22 for our next grand outing.” 

Rip downed his third drink, already too numb to feel the burn as it went down. He could feel Sara’s eyes boring into the back of his head, but he kept his back to her until he heard her steps quietly leave the bridge. 

Sighing loudly, he sat back down and rested his head on his hand. It was nice to know Sara cared even if she had unintentionally brought up some dark memories. She just didn’t understand that he’d never had the chance to develop the same nostalgic fondness for birthdays that she had. He was glad she had finally backed down. Hopefully, the matter would quickly be forgotten and they could all go back to their normal time travelling lives. 

He would soon learn to never underestimate the stubbornness of Sara Lance.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Rip slowly began to suspect his crew were up to something. That was nothing new, of course. They were often up to something behind his back but those were usually small things like sneaking off to the nearest bar or borrowing the jumpship to go to a famous historical concert or running an experiment to combine the technology of the Atom suit with that of the galley’s coffee maker or trying to create an onboard distillery or using the fabricator to replicate enough bedding to make a giant pillowfort in the cargo bay. 

This, by comparison, felt like something big.

Rip kept catching the team whispering behind his back. They’d stop their conversations the moment he entered a room and would send him odd looks or smile at him a tad too brightly. They also asked him odd questions, questions about his past, about his favourite things to do, and about whether he preferred chocolate or vanilla. 

All of this was tingling the sixth sense he’d gained after months of having to put up with them, the one that let him know when they were up to no good. He tried questioning them but they all pleaded innocence, some more convincingly than others.

After a couple weeks of this, Rip finally broke down and asked Gideon what was going on.

“No one is performing any acts which may potentially harm the ship or the rest of the crew,” was the A.I.’s reply which wasn’t as reassuring as it sounded considering Gideon’s judgement of such matters wasn’t always good.

“But they are planning something,” Rip asserted.

“The crew appear to be planning various things at the moment. Dr. Palmer is planning to construct new parts for the Atom suit. Professor Stein is planning what to make for dinner. Mr. Rory is planning to steal Mr. Jackson’s last Kit Kat bar. Ms. Lance is planning...”

Rip groaned. “I meant planning something behind my back, something I would not approve of.” Gideon might be a computer but she didn’t usually take things quite so literally and Rip was beginning to suspect she was trying to avoid answering.

There was a pause before Gideon continued, something else that was unusual for the A.I. “What type of actions would not meet your approval?” 

“Forget it,” Rip said and sighed. It seemed he would have to wait and see, brace himself for whatever was to come, because knowing this team, he would need to.

He didn’t have long to wait.

A few days later, Rip was woken up from what had been a nice peaceful sleep in his quarters by a violent jerk which shook the entire ship and threw him out of bed. Disoriented, tangled in his sheets on the floor, he was still cognizant enough to recognize the familiar feeling of a timejump.

“Gideon,” he called out as he disentangled himself. “Who’s flying the ship?”

“Ms. Lance,” the A.I. replied.

“What?!”

Getting up, he rushed out of his quarters and staggered down the shaking corridors towards the bridge. When he finally arrived, he was surprised to find not only Sara but the entire team strapped into their seats in front of the forward window.

“What the hell is going on?!” he demanded. 

The team craned their necks around and grinned at him. “Happy birthday!” they cried.

Rip stared at them, completely bewildered. “What....?”

“Congratulations, Rip,” Sara called out from the pilot’s seat. “You are now approximately 35. Strap yourself in. We’re going on a little trip.”

Rip opened his mouth to protest but instead stumbled as the ship jerked once more, the Waverider still convulsing from its journey through the time stream. He would have fallen on his face but Mick, who had just unstrapped himself, lunged forward and grabbed Rip’s arm yanking him over and shoving him down into the seat beside him. 

“You...” he grumbled as Mick pulled the restraint down over his head.

“Shut up and enjoy yourself,” was Mick’s reply.

Of all the things Rip had imagined his team committing mutiny for this was not one of them.

“This is ridiculous,” he cried. “You can’t just take over the ship. Gideon...”

Ray reached over and placed his hand over Rip’s mouth though he looked very apologetic as he did so.

Unable to speak, Rip glared back at him.

“Captain?” Gideon enquired, a touch of concern in her normally cheerful voice.

“Don’t worry, Gideon,” Sara reassured the A.I. “This is for his own good.”

Rip said something extremely rude and explicit but it was fortunately muffled by Ray’s hand which was still over his mouth.

“I assure you, Captain,” said Martin, “you have nothing to worry about. We have thought long and hard about this and have come up with the perfect way to celebrate your birthday. We have the whole day planned out.”

“Yeah,” Jax agreed. “You’ll have a great time. It’ll be just like all our other birthday trips.”

That did not reassure Rip in the slightest. He briefly considered trying to escape, activating Gideon’s mutiny protocols, and locking himself in his quarters for the rest of the day, but then he saw the earnest looks on the team’s faces, well, all except Mick’s. He just look extremely amused by what was going on. They really had done this all for him and they really were hoping he would have a good time. Fighting this would only lead to a very grumpy and very disappointed group of Legends.

Rip’s shoulders slumped as he resigned himself to his fate.

The time jump was long though not overly so, a few centuries by Rip’s guess. After so much time time travelling, he could tell just by the feel of the jump, but all he could see through the forward window as they emerged from the time stream was a glimpse of blue sky and some trees, so Rip was still left in the dark as to where they were when they landed.

“You’d better clean yourself up and get dressed,” said Sara as she got up from the pilot’s seat. “You’ll want to look nice.”

Rip, who coloured slightly when he recalled he was still in his nightclothes, said, “Any particular reason why?”

Sara raised an eyebrow as she gazed at him. “Well, I don’t think your mother will approve if you go out like that.”

Rip’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t.” He removed his restraints and jumped out of his seat. Lunging for the pilot console, he checked their coordinates. “You did. We’re at the Refuge. How did you even...?”

“Gideon helped us get in touch with your adopted mother, Ms. Xavier,” said Ray, a smug grin on his face. “She thought this was a great idea.”

“You’ve been conspiring behind my back with my mother?” Rip exclaimed. Why did that simple fact fill him with complete and utter terror?

“Relax,” said Sara, patting him on the back. “All we’ve been conspiring about is breakfast. Now hurry up and get dressed.”

Rip didn’t feel any better but he went and got dressed, various horrible scenarios playing in his head as he did so.

Once Rip was ready, they left the ship together and Mary Xavier was there waiting for them in front of the old Tudor house, a smile on her face and a twinkle of amusement in her eye. 

“Well, Michael,” she said, using Rip’s birth name. “It seems congratulations are in order.”

“I can’t believe you went along with this,” he said, sullenly.

“Of course, I did,” she replied. “How often do I get to celebrate the birth of one of my children? Besides, I missed you. You don’t come around anywhere near enough you know.”

Rip grimaced. “I know.”

She gazed at him sympathetically though the amusement was still there in her eyes. “Cheer up. It’s your birthday.” Her expression became more serious as she added, admonishingly, “And stop slouching. Honestly, Michael, how many times do I have to tell you? No one is going to take you seriously if you keep slouching like that.”

“Yes, mother,” Rip replied automatically. 

There was a snicker from behind him. He swung around and glared at the team but couldn’t figure out which of them it had done it.

“Come on,” said Ms. Xavier, taking his arm and escorting him inside. “I’ve got an enormous breakfast prepared for you, all your favourites.”

It was quite an enormous breakfast. The Refuge’s large dinning table was covered in plates of food: sausages and bacon, french toast and pancakes, baked beans and hash browns, eggs prepared in all types of ways, a large tureen of fruit salad, and a wide variety of pastries. The sight of it and the incredible smell of it made Rip’s mouth immediately start to water. He’d forgotten how much he had loved the food at the Refuge when he’d been living there. 

The rest of the Legends seemed to agree with him about the food. They attacked it like ravenous beasts. The Refuge’s current occupants, at that point in its timeline a group of mischievous thirteen year olds, were fortunately occupied elsewhere so they had the place to themselves. There was little talk at first, mostly small talk concerning the deliciousness of the food, but eventually the team, as they tended to, grew a little noisier and a little rowdier. 

That didn’t last long.

Without batting an eyelid and barely raising her voice, Ms. Xavier said, “Mr. Jefferson, food is for eating not throwing, and we will not be throwing the cutlery either, Ms. Lance. I don’t know what sort of things you get up to in your own homes but there will be no food fights at this table. Mr. Stein, at your age you should really know better. Mr. Palmer, if you would please refrain from talking with your mouth full, and Mr. Rory, I know what you’re thinking and I will not have that sort of behaviour in this house.”

Thoroughly chastised, the team, even surprisingly Mick, quieted down and took on rather more civilized behaviour.

Rip’s lips twisted into an amused smile. No one gave a dressing down quite like his mother and it was nice to have someone else tell off the team for a change.

Jax meanwhile turned to Martin, eyes wide, and said in what was probably meant to be a whisper but which still managed to carry across the table, “So that’s where Rip gets it from.”

Pointedly ignoring that remark, Ms. Xavier said, “So tell me what you’ve been getting up to. Are you still getting yourself into trouble wherever you go, Michael?”

Martin’s eyebrows rose in curiosity. “I wasn’t aware getting into trouble was a long standing habit of, um, Michael’s.”

“Oh, yes,” replied Ms. Xavier. “Ever since he first arrived. There was barely a moment when he wasn’t in some sort of trouble.”

Sara cast a sly look in Rip’s direction. “Please tell us more.”

“Yeah, with lots of embarrassing detail,” added Mick, between bites of raspberry tart.

Rip’s eyes widened. “I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” he said, hastily.

“Nonsense,” replied his mother, patting him on the arm. “You really worry too much about these sort of things.” Addressing the others once more, she said, “Other than his tendency to make certain things disappear...” She gave Rip a pointed look. “...one of his favourite things to do when he was living here was to go out on the roof. He used to sneak out through one of the upper windows. I was worried he’d fall and break his neck, so I forbid him to do so. He didn’t listen, of course; then one day he went and got himself stuck up there. One of the other children closed the window and he couldn’t get back inside, and instead of calling for help like a sensible person, he tried to climb down.”

“Did he make it?” asked Ray.

Ms. Xavier shook her head. “Fell when he was about half-way.” She turned to Rip. “Was that the first time you broke your arm or the second?”

“Second,” Rip admitted reluctantly.

“Right,” she said. “That was after you fell out of the chestnut tree.” She paused and pursed her lips thoughtfully. “No, that time you broke your leg. You broke your arm when you were walking along the top of the fence in the back garden.”

“He fall off a lot of things?” asked Sara, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. 

Rip glared at her. The rest of the team were showing equal signs of amusement.

“Off of things and into things,” replied Ms. Xavier. “He’s been in the infirmary more than any of my other children. There was this one time when one of the members of the council was visiting and Michael...”

“Mother!” Rip cried, desperately trying to stop her from saying more.

“The poor man was traumatized for life.”

Rip gave her a pleading look.

“Alright,” she said. “I won’t tell that story.”

The Legends gave audible sounds of disappointment.

“Oh,” she declared, suddenly. “Then there was the time he ruined my favourite set of curtains. You won’t believe what he was trying to do with them.”

The Legends perked up and Rip groaned, his face flushing a brilliant shade of red. His mother, however, didn’t show the slightest sign of remorse as she continued the tale.

After Ms. Xavier had, for the moment at least, run out of stories, Rip had died multiple times of embarrassment, and the team had stuffed themselves with more than enough food, Sara declared it was time to move on to the next part of Rip’s birthday celebration. 

The team took their leave and Rip’s normally prim and proper mother surprised him by giving him a hug goodbye. 

He hugged her back tightly.

Once they were done, Ms. Xavier pulled back and took his face in her hands. “My dear boy,” she said. “You will take care of yourself, won’t you?”

“I will,” Rip replied. “I promise.”

“And look after those friends of yours too,” she added. “They’re something special.”

Rip made a face. “Special isn’t quite the word I’d use.”

His mother gazed at him chidingly.

Rip rolled his eyes. “I’ll look after them,” he promised. “After all, someone has to.”

After they'd finished their goodbyes, Rip returned to the Waverider and the awaiting team.

“Well...” he began unsure what to say. “That was...”

“That was only the beginning,” said Sara. “We’ve still got a lot more celebrating to do.”

“Must we?” said Rip, shoulders slumping once more. “Visiting my mother was enjoyable, for the most part, but surely that was enough.”

But the team had already grabbed ahold of him and were dragging him off to the bridge where they happily strapped him back into a seat. When they arrived at their next destination, Rip was almost too nervous to see where they’d ended up. When he finally found out, he was at first confused, and then his eyes widened with realization.

“Please tell me you haven’t...” he began.

“Oh, it took some research,” said Ray, his grin an especially wide one even for him. “But we were able to track him down to this very time and place.”

The feeling of complete and utter dread was back. “This is not going to end well,” Rip said but he went with the team without another complaint as they got dressed in period appropriate clothing, though he did make a quick side trip to ensure Gideon had the medbay ready just in case.

The only person who felt more consternation about the situation than Rip was Jonah Hex when he looked up from his seat at a back table of the nearly empty saloon to find five faces grinning down at him and one gazing at him rather glumly.

Jonah’s eyes widened and he nearly fell out of his chair. “My God,” he exclaimed. “Haven’t you people caused enough damage ‘round here?”

“This wasn’t my idea,” Rip declared quickly, raising his hands. 

“I assure you we don’t intend to cause any trouble,” said Martin. “We’re just here to celebrate the captain’s birthday.”

“You’re here to do what?” said Jonah in disbelief

Rip sighed. “Apparently, the team’s decided I need to celebrate my birthday whether I’d like to or not, and for some reason, they thought I might like to spend some of it with you.”

Jonah snorted. “You have my sympathies.”

“What’s wrong with wanting to have a birthday celebration?” Jax protested.

“Well, you’ve certainly picked a great place for it,” said Jonah, nodding at their surroundings, the admittedly rather squalid and run down saloon.

“You’re a worse party pooper than Rip,” said Sara, shaking her head. “We came here to celebrate.”

“And I came here for a quiet drink,” said Jonah. “Not much chance of that with you lot hanging ‘round. Don’t suppose you’d consider moseying straight back to that ship of yours.”

“Not until we’ve done what we need to do,” said Ray with a nod of determination. “Mick?”

“Bring on the booze!” Mick exclaimed.

Booze was soon had by everyone severed to them by a rather wary and bemused barman. Rip took a seat beside Hex glad to see him despite the circumstances and glad to have at least one person who commiserated with his circumstances. The others all gathered randomly around the table creating a rather interesting spectacle for the rest of the patrons to stare at. 

As they drank, the team began prodding Jonah for tales about his bounty hunting and for tales about Rip’s time in the Old West. They insisted it was because they were there to celebrate their captain but Rip had a feeling they were just searching for more embarrassing stories. This lead to Jonah and Rip jointly telling a long tale about how they’d tracked down a gang of kidnappers across the desert which lead to an even longer argument between the two of them about who exactly had fired the shot which had killed the gang’s leader.

“You've got it all wrong,” said Rip, shaking his head. “It was my bullet that hit him. Your bullet went wide. All yours did was knock his hat off.”

“Like hell it did,” said Hex. “We both know I’m the better shot. Hell, I’m the one who taught you how to shoot in the first place.”

“I did know a thing or two about guns before I met you.”

“Yeah, everything except how to aim them.”

This in turn lead to an inevitable shooting match. Rip and Jonah stood in the middle of the town square aiming at more and more difficult targets while the team watched and cheered. It was Rip who won, hitting the arrowhead of a weathervane on top of a building at the other end of the street while it was turning in the wind, but Hex immediately declared he had only let Rip win because it was his birthday. There would have been a rematch but the town’s sheriff emerged and it soon became clear they were in danger of being run out of town, so they returned to the saloon to have more drinks.

It might have been the alcohol but Rip found he wasn't having as bad a time as he’d expected. It was good to spend time with Jonah even when they argued, which happened rather often. He’d almost forgotten how much he enjoyed the man’s company. And it was good to be back in this time period enjoying the familiar sights, smells, and sounds of the Old West. He was really starting to enjoy himself.

That is until the gang of armed desperadoes, whom Jonah had conveniently forgot to mention were tracking him, appeared and a giant gun fight erupted in the middle of the saloon.

The good guys won, thankfully, though the saloon was thoroughly trashed. Rip shook his head as he gazed at the broken furniture and fallen desperadoes. He'd known something like this would happen. He was just grateful to have gotten through the chaotic fight without getting shot. Actually technically, he had gotten shot but the bullet only grazed his cheek so it didn’t count. The team also survived intact and emerged from the fight in good spirits, feeling energized and pleased to have participated in a real Old West gun fight once more.

Hex looked at their cheery faces and the messed up bar, and said to Rip, “You know these friends of yours are crazier than a pack of rabid coyotes.”

Rip nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said. “Trust me, I know.”

After the fight, they decided it was best to leave before anymore desperadoes showed up or before they really were run out of town, neither the sheriff nor the barman feeling particularly welcoming towards them at that moment.

“It was good to see you again, my friend,” said Rip as he shook hands with Jonah.

“Likewise,” said Hex, squeezing his hand warmly. “And I’m grateful for your help and all, but maybe next time, you leave the rest of your team at home for the sake of my life and my sanity.”

Giving him a wry smile, Rip said, “I’ll try to but I’m beginning to think I’m stuck with them.”

“Well, you could do worse,” Jonah replied, a smirk crossing his scarred face.

Back on the Waverider, Rip didn’t even bother protesting as Sara flew them to their final destination. He just sat back and waited for whatever disaster was to come next.

“So where are we this time?” he asked somewhat apprehensively when they’d landed.

“Why don’t you go out and see for yourself?” said Sara, smiling an impish smile.

He gazed at her warily but got up from his seat and headed out of the ship.

Outside, it was a warm summer evening and the sun was nearing the horizon, streaking the blue sky with pink and purple. They were in what appeared to be a park, situated in the midst of a grassy hillside dotted with large boulders and surrounded by clusters of fir trees. Everything was very quiet and peaceful, the only sound the faint echo of bird songs in the distance. 

“Where is this place?” he breathed.

“Falcon Stone Park,” said Sara from behind him having followed him off the ship. “It’s just on the outskirts of Star City. Dad used to take Laurel and I up here sometimes. I thought it would be perfect for this last little part of our celebration.”

“For what exactly?” asked Rip.

“For our picnic,” Sara replied.

Rip’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “That actually sounds rather nice.”

Sara shrugged. “I thought you’d like something a little calmer to end with,” she said with a knowing smile.

As usual, she was right.

The team brought out large armfuls of supplies from the ship and spread out blankets over the grass upon which they set out piles of food and more alcohol as if they hadn’t had enough already. There was even a large cake with candles which they made Rip blow out as they sang Happy Birthday to him, some with rather more talent than others.

They talked and ate and drank until the sun set and the stars appeared.

“Are you sure this is such a good idea?” Rip asked later as they watched Mick and Ray set up a fireworks display.

“Sure it is,” Sara reassured him. “After all who knows more about pyrotechnics than Mick. Besides, Ray will keep an eye on him.”

“I suppose,” Rip replied, unconvinced.

Taking a hold of his arm, Sara leaned her head on his shoulder. “So what did you think about this whole birthday thing?”

“It’s been... interesting,” said Rip.

Sara rolled her eyes. “You enjoyed yourself. Admit it.”

A crooked smile appeared on Rip’s face. “There may have been a few times when things were not completely unpleasant,” he confessed.

Sara gave an amused snort before growing serious once more. “I’m sorry you couldn’t spend it how you wanted to,” she said.

Rip thought about his mother and about Jonah; then he gazed over at Jax and Martin who were squabbling over the last piece of cake, at Ray who was busy trying to keep a particularly large firework away from Mick, at Sara by his side resting her head on his shoulder as she gazed lazily up at the stars. 

“I wanted to spend my birthday with my family,” he said. “And I did.”

As the team clustered together on the picnic blankets watching the fireworks shoot upward and explode among the stars, Rip found himself filled with a contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. Maybe birthdays weren’t so bad, he thought as the Legends oohed and aahed at the shimmering, sparkling lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the birthdays are finally done. Thank goodness. Now back to the ever-growing list.
> 
> Coming soon:  
> \- Just a Little Accident Prone  
> \- Playing Dress Up  
> \- A Few Home Comforts  
> \- Good Morning, Waverider  
> \- Hide and Seek or Where's All the Rum Gone?


	13. Playing Dress-up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Random POV switch! I just thought writing this from Sara's point of view would work better. Not sure if this will happen again.
> 
> One of my favorite things to do when writing fanfic is to take a minor detail from the show and run with it. In this case, it was what Rip said in the first episode of the second season when he identified the German spies: "Notice their uniforms. The stitching on the lapels, it's exquisite."

For as long as Sara had been a part of Rip’s little team of Legends, Rip had always helped pick out the clothes for their missions, and Sara had never found anything strange about that. After all before they’d boarded the Waverider, they’d never even heard of such a thing as a fabricator let alone used one, and even after Rip had taught them how to use it, they weren’t exactly historians. They didn’t know what was appropriate to wear in say 14th century China or 17th century Brazil. So unless they happened to be visiting a time period they had already lived through, they were reliant on Rip.

If necessary, Gideon could help, of course. She had a database full of suitable options but she would give you a list of hundreds to choose from, and if you asked her to pick one out at random, you were taking a huge risk. Gideon, unfortunately, did not have any fashion sense. Rip on the other hand... Rip would glance at you, scroll through Gideon’s list, and pick something out within a few seconds, and you knew you’d end up looking good, gorgeous in fact. He’d even take your personal tastes into account and give you some flattering accessories to go along with the clothing.

And Sara never really thought about it. She always just took it for granted, until one day when they were suiting up for a mission in late 19th century Prague...

It had taken almost fifteen minutes for Sara to stuff herself into the enormous dress with its ridiculous amount of frills and ruffles, and once she was done, she marched back to the fabricator room with a few choice words for their captain.

“How the hell am I supposed to fight in this?” she demanded as she stormed into the room. She did admittedly look very good in the dress Rip had picked out, as usual, but looks weren’t everything.

Rip glanced up momentarily from his search through Gideon’s clothing database, and then turned back to the screen. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he said as he continued his search. “Besides, if all goes well, there shouldn’t actually be any fighting.”

“Since when does ‘all go well’?” Sara pointed out. “Can’t you at least do something to the skirt? Make it looser, lighter, shorter, anything?”

“That skirt is already lighter and less fitted than average for this time period and I can’t raise the hemline anymore without scandalizing people with the sight of your ankles. We’re trying to be respectable upper class citizens this time around, remember?”

“Fine,” Sara replied, peevishly. She grimaced as she gazed down at the dress tugging at the skirt and watching the frilly pleats swirl around her legs. “At least, there are plenty of places to stash knives in all this crap,” she added consolingly to herself.

Rip turned to her, head tilting to the side as he gave her one of his typical ‘I’m very disappointed in you right now’ looks.

Sara raised her eyebrows and sent back a pointed ‘do you remember who you’re talking to?’

Rip rolled his eyes, his expression changing to the familiar ‘what the hell did I ever do to deserve a team like this.’

“You’ll want a shawl to go over the dress,” he said, already inputting the necessary parameters into the fabricator, “with a suitably elaborate broach. Oh, and you’ll need a hat as well and some gloves.”

Within a few seconds, a shawl matching the colour and style of Sara’s dress had materialized inside the fabricator. A few seconds later, a drawer popped open containing a small broach. Rip took the shawl and draped it over Sara’s shoulders, moving her long hair out of the way before pinning the shawl in place. 

Looking down, Sara gazed at the broach. It was a small oval of ivory framed in silver. Carved into the ivory was a canary with its beak open in mid-song. It was beautiful. She wondered if Rip would let her keep it after the mission.

Rip meanwhile had stepped back and was looking her over. He nodded in satisfaction. “You’ll need to put your hair up,” he said. “Gideon can show you an appropriate style. When you’re done, come back and I’ll show you how to use a hat pin.”

The fabricator was already making her hat. It had feathers sprouting out of it. But Sara had other things on her mind. The quick and efficient way Rip had dressed her up, completed her ensemble, and appraised how she looked was niggling something in the back of her brain. There was something there, something she’d never noticed before.

Just then Jax entered. He was dressed in his 19th century wear but his vest was unbuttoned and he held a silk scarf abjectly in one hand.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.

“That, Mr. Jackson, is your cravat,” Rip declared, “the forefather of the tie. Here," he added walking over to Jax. "I’ll tie it for you.”

Rip took the scarf from Jax and wrapped it around the young man’s neck before tying it in an elaborate knot and tucking it into his shirt. He then buttoned up Jax’s vest and straightened his coat making sure everything fit good and hung right. Taking a step back, he gazed at Jax thoughtfully tapping a finger against his lips.

“You’ll need a good topper to finish it off,” he said and went back to the fabricator. He soon produced a black top hat and he set it on Jax’s head at a slight angle. “There you go. Now you look very dapper.”

“Gideon,” Jax called out. “Mirror, please.”

The A.I. obediently produced a holographic mirror image of Jax. 

Jax gazed at the reflected image with a pleased grin. “Nice,” he said. “Thanks, Rip.” On his way out of the room, he added, “Oh, Grey’s still waiting for his duds.” 

“Right,” said Rip heading back to the fabricator.

Sara had been watching carefully throughout Rip’s entire exchange with Jax and continued watching as Rip flipped through the selections in Gideon’s database choosing a vest in the exact shade she knew would bring out the colour of Martin’s eyes.

“Was there something else, Ms. Lance?” Rip asked, obviously having noticed the staring.

Sara sauntered over and leaned casually against the wall beside him folding her arms across her chest and gazing at him calculatingly. “You take courses on fashion at that Time Master academy of yours?” she asked.

Rip kept his attention on what he was doing but Sara could see the lines on his forehead deepen. “Well, yes. A course on the history of fashion is required learning. You need it so you know how to properly blend in to the various time periods you visit.”

“Uh huh,” she said, and added offhandedly, “So just the one course?”

“There’s one required course,” Rip elaborated, “but the academy offers several more for those who wish to pursue the subject in more detail.”

“So how many did you take?”

Rip hesitated, his hand momentarily frozen hovering over the screen before he continued. “A few,” he admitted. He pressed a few more buttons and the fabricator came to life buzzing as it began to materialize Martin’s clothes.

Sara continued to stare at him.

Avoiding her gaze but obviously feeling the weight of it, Rip shifted his feet and began to fidget uncomfortably, the fingers of his left hand tapping restlessly against his side. “Maybe eight,” he finally confessed.

Sara smirked. “And how well did you do in those classes?”

“Why the sudden interest in my education?” Rip demanded as he removed the first of the clothing from the fabricator, a charcoal coloured coat, and draped it over a nearby bench so the machine could begin on the next piece.

“Just curious,” Sara said with a casual shrug though her eyes were lit with amusement.

Rip turned to her with one of his best put upon looks, and then sighed and said, “It so happens I was top of my class in all of them.”

Sara laughed and clapped her hands together. “I knew it,” she exclaimed. “You wanted to be a fashion designer in another life, didn’t you?”

Groaning, Rip turned away from her and went back to the fabricator to finish Martin’s clothing.

“Was that your fall back plan in case you didn’t graduate?” Sara continued, teasingly. “I bet if you ever retire, you could open your own boutique. Or get a job as a stylist. Instead of dressing ungrateful teammates, you could fit out the rich and famous in any time period you chose, or several time periods. A time travelling fashion stylist, now there’s a unique job description.”

“It was just a hobby,” Rip grumbled yanking the next piece of clothing from the fabricator with rather more force than necessary.

“Oh, Rip,” said Sara giving him a fond smile. Going over to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with having an interest in fashion. I think it’s awesome. It’s nice to know there’s something more to you than being an ex-Time Master and having an Old West fetish.”

Rip still didn’t seem very happy but he looked somewhat mollified, or at least less grumpy.

Sara patted him on the back. “And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thank you,” he said, gratefully.

“Though in future, I will be coming to you for all fashion advice.”

Rip rolled his eyes. He probably would have had something to say about that but just then another member of the team entered the fabricator room. Upon seeing Mick Rory, Rip let out another groan. Mick was wearing his 19th century costume but with one minor exception.

“No, no, no, no,” Rip exclaimed. “You are not going out in those sneakers. What happened to the boots I gave you?”

“I don’t like them,” Mick replied. “They’re too girly.”

“Most boots for the upper classes were like that back then,” Rip explained.

“Still don’t like them,” Mick repeated.

Rip sighed, wearily. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find something you do like. How about something tough and manly that says I can crush your skull under my heel if I chose?”

Mick pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then nodded. “Sounds about right.”

As the two headed over to the fabricator, Sara couldn’t help letting out a brief giggle and Rip shot a glare in her direction. She quickly mimed zipping her lips, and then held her hand over her mouth to prevent anymore giggles from escaping as she watched Rip pick out the perfect shoes for Mick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming soon (and by soon I mean at some random point in the future):  
> \- The Pajama Party  
> \- Just a Little Accident Prone  
> \- A Few Home Comforts  
> \- Good Morning, Waverider  
> \- Hide and Seek or Where's All the Rum Gone?


	14. Merry Christmas, Rip Hunter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas. Sorry, it's a day late. I failed to finish it off in time. I didn't even mean to write another Christmas story at all but last weekend I was at a Christmas concert after watching snow fall past my window all day which put me in a rather Christmassy mood and by the time the concert was over I had this whole thing worked out in my head, and then I couldn't find the time or the brain power to write it down for almost a week. Oh, well, better late than never.

Rip stared blearily at the blazing fireplace in front of him and let out a long and heartfelt sigh.

Why, oh, why, he wondered, did he keep letting the team talk him into these things?

A garland was draped over the mantelpiece above the crackling fire, a long, festive garland covered in red bows, bits of holly, and tiny golden bells. It lay across the mantle, its ends dangling over each side, as jolly and as Christmassy as any garland could be. To add even more holiday flare to the fireplace, a large red stocking had been hung from the mantle as if someone, namely Ray, expected it to be magically filled with presents. Mick had made several suggestions about what could be put in it. Rip had quickly vetoed every one.

Let’s celebrate Christmas, they’d said. It’ll be fun, they’d said.

Rip let out a derisive snort.

The fire itself was fairly large, the flames flickering across the pile of logs and filling the room with the sweet scent of burning cedar, but the heat the fire gave off wasn’t quite enough to take the chill from Rip’s bones. Shivering, he pulled the blankets tighter around him and sank deeper into the couch grumbling to himself about bothersome teammates and their ridiculous ideas about what they considered to be fun.

A tree stood by the fireplace completing the Christmas scene, a real tree not a plastic one upon insistence from Jax who wanted nothing but the real thing. Rip could certainly vouch for its realness. He’d been the one who’d had to clean up all the needles after the others had dragged it into the cabin. The decorations adorning the tree were fairly traditional, for the most part, some multicoloured balls, some pine cones, some strings of popcorn, though why they’d thought adding a few of Sara’s throwing knives in among the branches would be a good idea Rip would never know. The lights that wound around the tree were made by Jax and Ray from leftover components of the Waverider’s electrical system and flickered on and off randomly in random colours. The elaborate gold star that stood at the top of the tree had been acquired by Snart. Rip didn’t know where Snart had gotten it or how, and that was probably a good thing.

There was a tug at the blankets encircling Rip as the person pressed against his left side shifted about and he glanced over at his blanket sharing companion. 

Sara was looking at the fire too, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, one which he was sure was in his own as well. Her face was pale except to for a slight redness to her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and her hair was still damp leaving it somewhat frizzy as it fell down over her shoulders. 

Rip readjusted the blankets making sure they still covered them both, and then settled down once more.

On the sill of the window not far from the tree sat a menorah, its candles waiting to be lit. Martin had placed it there though he insisted he enjoyed celebrating Christmas just as much as Hanukah. He had also promised to bake them some of his grandmother's latkes later.

Outside the window, the snow was falling more heavily than ever. At the rate it was going, they could end up snowed it, trapped in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, because the team hadn’t just wanted to celebrate Christmas. No. They had wanted to celebrate Christmas in a nice, out of the way cabin in a forest halfway up a mountain where there was sure to be lots of snow. They’d insisted it would be nice and Christmassy. After all, why would they want to be sensible and celebrate in a nice, warm, state of the art timeship with an advanced medical facility, which now sat parked out of reach at the base of the mountain. 

More snow collected on the ground outside and Rip gave another heartfelt sigh.

It actually hadn’t seemed that bad an idea at first, celebrating Christmas. The team had obviously needed a break. They'd been through some tough missions recently and the strain had made itself known causing the team to become even more troublesome than usual. Rip had even started to enjoy himself once they'd settled in and started putting up decorations, or at least he had been enjoying himself before this happened. 

Maybe he was cursed, Rip thought. Maybe he had unknowingly pissed off some witch or sorcerer and was now doomed to have calamity befall him wherever he went. That would certainly explain some things. 

Of course, this time it hadn’t been just him calamity had claimed as its victim.

Sara began shifting about again and a bony elbow poked him in the ribs. Rip glanced over at her once more. Apparently all the shifting about was an effort to stay awake because as he watched her head began to droop. It sprang up again but only to start drooping once more. It wasn't long before her eyes closed and her body slumped to the side, her head falling on to the shoulder of the person to her left, one Leonard Snart.

“No sleeping, Lance,” said Snart, gazing down at the woman now using him as a pillow. “Remember what Stein said.”

Sara mumbled something incomprehensible in reply and stayed where she was, eyes closed.

Leonard reached over with the arm not currently wrapped around her shoulders and gently patted her cheek. “Come on, Assassin. Wakey wakey.”

This time there was no response.

“Sara?” Leonard enquired in the soft tone Rip had only ever heard him use with her.

“I’m awake,” she muttered grumpily, not bothering to shift position or open her eyes.

“Really?” said Snart incredulously. “Trying telling me that again with your eyes open.”

Still not opening her eyes, Sara dug a hand out of the mound of blankets and jabbed him in the stomach.

Leonard let out a loud ‘oof’. He would have probably let out something much more explicit if Sara had been up to her usual strength. “You sure are crabby when you’re sleepy,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “You know I love it when you snooze on me but if you want to be able to wake up again, or have any of the hot chocolate that’s coming, you might want to try staying awake.”

Perhaps it was the mention of hot chocolate that finally got through to her as Sara opened her eyes and sat up. She blinked several times and let out a jaw cracking yawn.

“Much better,” said Snart.

Sara quickly jabbed him again.

Rip really wished the hot chocolate would arrive soon. Sara wasn’t the only one feeling sleepy and he was still chilled to the bone despite the warm bodies and the many blankets. He turned to gaze out of the window once more.

Somewhere out in that snow were two lopsided snowmen with crooked branches for arms and tiny rocks for eyes. One of them was also wearing the scarf and tuque that were supposed to be Rip’s. He didn’t know why his clothes had had to be used for the snowman. They’d been snatched from him before he could even protest and now a snowman with a silly grin drawn on its face had his green tuque and stripy scarf when he could have really used them. 

Along with the snowmen amidst the firs trees and the fields of snow outside, there were also several snow angels of various sizes, the remains of two thoroughly demolished snow forts, and a large jagged hole in what had proven to be a frozen lake.

Rip shivered again. He was tired of shivering. It was making his bones ache. 

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer to the warm body on his right side. Rip stiffened at first but then let himself relax. Say what you will about Mick Rory he certainly lived up to his code name. Even his body was like a raging furnace, warm and soft and cuddly...

Rip’s head shot up, his eyes widening. Oh, God, he was getting delirious.

“No sleep for you either, English,” said Mick, giving his shoulder a shake as if he hadn’t been shaken around enough already. “I’m not carting your frozen corpse back down the mountain.”

Rip dug a leaden hand out from the blankets and rubbed tiredly at his face. “If I do die,” he muttered, “you have permission to cremate me. At least then maybe I’ll be warm.”

“No problem,” said Mick and Rip really wished he hadn’t said it with quite so much enthusiasm.

Rip’s eyes drifted back to the fireplace with its Christmas decor and merrily dancing flames. It wasn’t long before his head started to nod again.

Mick gave him another violent shake. “I’ll cremate you now if you don’t stay awake.”

Rip glared up at him and was surprised to see actual concern in Mick’s eyes. Maybe he really was getting delirious.

In fact, he wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of hypothermia induced hallucination, the four of them squashed together on the couch like this, cuddling, him and Sara half-dressed and swaddled in so many blankets, pressed between Leonard and Mick, all the bright Christmas decorations surrounding them.

Not wanting to be shaken again, Rip tried to stay awake but his body felt weighted down with fatigue. His head alone felt ten times as heavy and soon it began to droop once more. On his left, it looked like Sara’s head was doing the same. He caught Mick and Snart exchanging glances over their heads, communicating silently with their eyebrows as they tended to do. They seemed worried about something. Why were they so worried? Rip wondered drowsily.

“Where the hell is that idiot with the hot chocolate?” Snart demanded.

As if on cue, Ray arrived emerging through the kitchen door with a tray loaded with steaming mugs. “Here I am,” he said, completely unaware he’d just called himself an idiot. 

Ray was wearing such a ridiculous Christmas sweater Rip could only stare at it in astonishment. The thing was mainly red and green but with so many pompoms, bells, and ribbons covering it in such a clashing kaleidoscope of colours it was almost nauseating. It was, in fact, such an ugly sweater it finally convinced Rip he wasn’t hallucinating. No way could his imagination come up with anything quite so garish.

“Sorry, I took so long,” Ray said as he placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of them, “but I had trouble finding where we’d stashed the mini marshmallows.”

“Because mini marshmallows are so important when treating hypothermia,” said Snart, sarcastically.

Ray gave him a hurt look. “I just thought Rip and Sara deserved proper hot chocolates with all the works after...” He waved a hand in the air in a vague gesture.

“Just give me,” said Sara, sticking a hand out of the blankets.

Ray quickly handed over a mug.

Sara took it, and with a little help from Leonard, had a long drink, a look of complete bliss coming over her face.

Rip took a mug too, reaching for it clumsily with both hands and pointedly ignoring the way they were shaking. The hot chocolate smelled heavenly. The little marshmallows bobbing on top were an odd assortment of pastel colours and there were a surprisingly lot of them too. Ray had really gone all out. There even appeared to be a sprinkling of cinnamon on top.

“You’re supposed to drink it not stare at it, you moron,” Mick declared, Rip having apparently been gazing at his mug a little too long.

Rip lifted the mug and finally took a sip. The hot chocolate tasted even better than it had smelled and immediately sent warmth coursing through his entire body clearing the muzziness from his head he hadn’t even realized was there. He took a larger sip and sighed for the third time in the past few minutes but this time it was a sigh of contentment. Before he knew it, he had finished half the mug.

When Rip looked up once, taking a break from drowning himself in chocolate, he spotted Martin and Jax peering around the kitchen doorway, matching looks of guilt on their faces. Rip narrowed his eyes and glared at them. Sara, spotting them too, sent one of her own, admittedly rather more effective, glares their way. The pair quickly disappeared, ducking back into the kitchen from which the sound of a loud argument was soon heard.

Having seen this play out, Ray shook his head and said, “Come on, guys. It wasn’t their fault.”

“How is it not their fault?” Sara grumbled and took another gulp of her hot chocolate.

“They just got a little carried away,” said Ray, unconvincingly. 

"A little?" said Snart with a snort.

Ray made a face. “Well, how were they to know the pile of snow Sara and Rip were standing on happened to be covering a frozen lake? They just wanted to melt the snow out from under them. They didn’t know the fireball would...”

“Give us an instant ice bath?” Rip suggested.

Even though he was so much warmer now, he shivered at the memory. Luckily, the part of the lake they’d been standing over hadn’t actually been that deep. When he and Sara had recovered from the sudden dunking, they’d found they both could touch bottom, the water only coming up to Rip’s chest and Sara’s shoulders, so they hadn’t been in much danger of drowning. Unfortunately, the ice surrounding them had been slippery and weakened by the fireball so it took awhile and the some delicate rescue work for the others to pull them out. Not wanting to risk taking the frozen pair all the way back to the ship, the team had then dragged them back to the much closer cabin where they’d divested them of their wet clothes and wrapped them in blankets in front of the fire. Leonard and Mick had stayed in order to help warm them while Ray went to get hot chocolate, Martin and Jax following in order to escape Sara’s wrath.

“I say we bury them somewhere out in the snow where they’ll never be found,” said Sara with a vicious flare she usually reserved for talking about her enemies.

“Just let us know when and where,” said Leonard.

“I’ll bring the shovel,” added Mick.

“Guys,” Ray protested. “You can’t seriously be... Rip?”

“As Captain, I can’t condone such a thing,” said Rip in a calm, commanding tone before quickly adding, “so do it when I’m not looking.”

Sara raised her mug to him and he clinked his against hers.

Ray sighed and slumped his shoulders clearly giving up on the lot of them.

It wasn’t long though before the sources of Sara’s imminent revenge emerged from kitchen bearing nervous expressions on their faces and plates of freshly made gingerbread cookies in the hands.

Martin and Jax stood in front of Rip and Sara grimacing guiltily, barely able to meet their eyes.

“There’s not much we can say other than the fact that we are both deeply and sincerely sorry,” Martin began, bowing his head and gazing at the ground. “Our actions were inexcusable, and careless, and reckless, and...”

“And we know this can’t really make up for what happened but...” Jax put in holding out the plate of cookies.

Rip turned to Sara and Sara turned to him. They gazed at each other thoughtfully. Rip knew, and could tell Sara knew too, that they couldn’t really hold what had happened against Martin and Jax. The two had just been playing around after all. They hadn’t actually meant to hurt either one of them, but Rip and Sara continued to stare silently at each other for a while. It wouldn’t do to let the pair off too easily.

Finally, unable to take the looks of extreme guilt anymore, Rip turned back to them. “Well, I suppose forgiveness is in the spirit of Christmas,” he said and helped himself to a gingerbread reindeer.

“You’re just lucky I really like cookies,” said Sara reaching out a hand to take a gingerbread snowman from the plate.

Martin and Jax smiled in obvious relief, and then were immediately attacked by all the other Legends who also wanted cookies.

The gingerbread was actually quite good and when combined with the hot chocolate finally managed to stop Rip’s shivering. By the time he’d downed his second mugful, all of the chill had fled from his bones. He still felt incredibly drowsy though and was soon nodding once more. With the blankets covering him and the team surrounding him as they ate cookies and chatted idly, Rip felt wrapped in a cozy type of warmth, and slowly, he began to drift off, the world fading around him.

Unfortunately, before he could fall completely into the land of dreams, he was suddenly brought back to awareness by the sound of an electronic click followed by a deep rumbling very close to his ear. 

The source of the first noise was immediately obvious when he opened his eyes. 

Ray was standing in front of Rip, his phone held directly at him, a large grin on his face. “No one’s going to believe this,” he declared.

The rumbling sounded again followed by Mick’s voice which also seemed surprisingly close. “Haircut....” he said in a dangerous tone.

“I’ve got to send a copy of this to Barry and Cisco,” said Ray, gazing at his phone and apparently unaware of the danger he was in. “They’ll love it.”

“Don’t you dare,” growled Mick.

As more awareness came back to Rip, he suddenly realized why Mick’s voice was sounding so very close. Apparently when he’d drifted off, his head had fallen to the side and landed right on Mick’s shoulder which he was now using as a pillow. 

Rip immediately sat bolt upright. 

This proved to be a good thing because a second later Mick sprang up from the couch and launched himself at Ray crying, “Give me that phone!”

Ray’s eyes widened and he took off.

Rip, still half-asleep, watched as Mick began to chase Ray around the room, the pair knocking various things over as they went. 

Oh, God, thought Rip, just when he thought he’d found some peace. Groaning, he reached up and rubbed his eyes only to stop in mid-rub when he suddenly smelt... Was that smoke? Please say the cabin wasn’t about to burn down. Rip had wanted to be warm but that was a bit much.

Across the room, Jax and Martin, who had been trying to protect the tree from Mick and Ray, suddenly grew matching looks of horror on their faces. 

“The shortbread!” they exclaimed in unison and dashed off to the kitchen from which the smell was emanating.

Rip groaned again. As usual with this team, chaos reigned and any peace was fleeting.

Mick, meanwhile, had managed to catch up with Ray and was now wrestling him for the phone. Ray appeared to be fighting back by attempting to tickle him. Rip knew he should probably intervene before they broke something, or each other, but right then he didn’t even have the energy to protest. Besides, he had a strange feeling they were actually enjoying themselves.

Looking over at Sara, Rip was pleased to find someone at least had found some peace. Sara had finally gotten her wish and was now sleeping with her head resting upon Leonard’s shoulder, a half-eaten gingerbread star clutched in her hand. Not even the antics of Ray and Mick had woken her up.

Leonard, his arm wrapped tightly around Sara, caught his eyes and grinned. “Merry Christmas, Rip.”

Rip gave a tired sigh. “Merry Christmas, Leonard.”

Oh, well, Rip thought, he supposed it couldn’t be a true Legends’ Christmas without a few disasters.

Reaching over, he stole the last of the gingerbread cookies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. Poor Rip once more suffering in the cold weather and now Sara ends up suffering too. Anything to get the four cuddling together.


	15. The Pyjama Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's fanfic is brought to you by the computer system error that sent me home from work early and gave me plenty of time to finish this off.

It was night on the Waverider, or at least, the nearest equivalent to night that could be found on a ship that could jump from morning straight to evening and then to noon and then back to morning again just for good measure. The ship was currently drifting through the temporal zone, its systems in standby mode, its internal lights dimmed, and all of its crew tucked up peacefully in bed.

Or at least, they were supposed to be.

Rip was tucked up in bed. He was curled up on his side, covers tightly wrapped around him as he lay there quietly not sleeping. 

Breathing out a heavy sigh, he turned over and spent several minutes on his other side also not sleeping. He then turned onto his back and spent some more quality time not sleeping as he stared up at the darkened ceiling. He grabbed his pillow and switched positions so his head was where his feet had been and vice versa only to end up spending even more time not sleeping.

Finally, he let out a cry of frustration and threw his pillow across the room. That was it. He gave up. It was obvious there was not going to be any sleep for him that night. Tossing off his covers, he sat up and called out, “Lights, Gideon.”

Light flooded the small room forcing Rip to squint against the sudden brightness. He groaned and rubbed his sore eyes. It wasn’t as if he wasn’t tired. He was weary to the bone but there were simply too many thoughts and images running through his mind to let him sleep.

The last mission hadn’t been an easy one. They’d accomplished what they’d needed to do well enough, fixed what needed to be fixed, but visiting a warzone was never easy, especially after what had happened to his family. 

Visions of battlefields came unbidden to Rip’s mind, the ones they’d just visited becoming mixed up with the one where he’d found Miranda and Jonas’ bodies. He squeezed his eyes shut and dug his fingernails into the palms of his hands holding his breath as a wave of old, familiar grief washed over him; then he slowly let the breath out. Opening his eyes once more, he gave his head a violent shake as if that could shake the images from his mind.

God, he hated warzones.

To top off an already unpleasant mission, they’d also almost lost Ray. The former tech billionaire would be fine. He was in the medbay recovering from his injuries but it had been a close one. It was always hard when Rip was reminded of just how vulnerable, how mortal his team were, just like his family had been. 

Rip got up deciding he would go to his study to read or work or something, anything to keep the memories of the previous day out of his mind. Not to mope. He wasn’t going there to mope. Despite what Sara might think, he did not mope. Of course, if he fell asleep there again, he was in for another telling off by his overly fussy crew but that was a risk he was willing to take.

Letting out a yawn and running a hand through his disheveled hair, Rip headed out of his room and into the corridors of the ship.

And then immediately came to an abrupt halt when he almost collided with Ray.

“Ray!” he exclaimed, blinking at the man in surprise. “Dr. Palmer, what are you doing out of the medbay? Are you alright?”

“Oh, yeah. I’m good,” Ray replied; then with a shrug added, “Or at least, a lot better than I was before.”

“You should be resting. What are you...” Rip had been about to ask what Ray was doing there but something else drew his attention. “What are you wearing?”

Ray grinned. “You like it?” He held out his arms and did a little turn to show off his new outfit. “Sara had them made for me.”

“They’re... um...” Rip stammered. 

Ray was still pale and his face drawn but his eyes were bright and he seemed to be steady on his feet. What Rip didn’t understand was why he was out of the medbay and wandering around the ship in the middle of the night when he should be busy recuperating, and why he was wearing the most ridiculous set of pyjamas Rip had ever seen, footsie pyjamas, footsie pyjamas with...

“Are those supposed to be spaceships?” Rip asked pointing at the little vehicles adorning Ray’s nightwear. 

“Starships,” Ray corrected. “The USS Enterprise. The original,” he added as if that were a very important fact.

“I see,” said Rip, uncertainly, still not really understanding. He also didn’t understand why Ray was carrying so many blankets, light-weight blankets, all with various colourful patterns on them. “Is it particularly cold in the medbay?” he asked gesturing at them.

Ray’s eyes widened slightly. “Um, yes,” he said, unconvincingly “Well, sort of. A bit. I just thought a few more blankets would help me sleep better.” He finished off his rambling explanation with a somewhat strained smile.

Ray had never been a very good liar. Normally, if the crew were up to something behind his back, and they often were, Rip would want to know exactly what was going on, but it was late and he was tired and really in no mood to pursue the matter further. Besides, if anyone deserved a little leeway right then, it was Ray.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Rip asked again, unable silence the nagging worry in the back of his mind. It was hard to forget the state Ray had been in when they’d brought him in, pale and lifeless, covered in mud and blood.

“Almost as good as new,” Ray reassured him. “Promise.”

“Well, head straight back to medbay,” Rip said, clapping him on the shoulder, “and make sure you get plenty of rest,” 

“Will do, Captain,” Ray replied with a nod, grinning once more.

With a shake of his head, Rip left Ray to continue on with whatever it was he was doing and resumed his journey towards his study once more. Sometimes Rip wondered if he would ever truly understand this team of his. The sound of rushing footsteps could soon be heard revealing that Ray wasn't the only one still up. A couple seconds later, the source of the footsteps emerged.

It was Jax. He was racing down the corridor towards Rip, his arms full of pillows.

“Mr. Jackson!” Rip cried.

Startled, Jax skidded to a halt, and the pillows went flying, one hitting Rip right in the face.

Jax stood amid the fallen pillows and cringed. “Sorry.”

Rubbing his sore nose, Rip sighed wearily. “Mr. Jackson, is there a reason you felt the need to go careening through the ship at this time of the night?”

“Uh...” Jax scratched the side of his neck. “It was Sara,” he declared, suddenly. “Yeah, she said Ray really needed these pillows and I should get them to him right away.” Bending down, he hastily began picking them up.

Rip frowned. “What? All of them?”

“She said he was having trouble sleeping,” Jax elaborated.

Rip was about to ask how all the pillows were supposed to help when he suddenly noticed what Jax was wearing. “Is there some new ship’s uniform I haven’t been made aware of?”

“Huh?” said Jax as he stood up, the pillows once more gathered in his arms. “Oh, the PJs? Sara had Gideon make some Star Trek ones for Ray so I asked her to make me some Star Wars ones too.” He pointed to one of the little spaceships adorning his footsie pyjamas and said, “Isn't the Millennium Falcon like the coolest ship ever? Except for the Waverider, of course,” he quickly hastened to add.

“Jax...” Rip began, not wanting to know what was going on but beginning to suspect he should find out. “What...?”

“Sorry, Rip,” Jax interrupted him, “but I really need to get these pillows to Ray.” And he rushed off down the corridor before Rip could say anymore.

Rip sighed. It was for the best, he told himself. Whatever was going on, it was probably best he didn’t know. Taking a deep breath, he continued on down the corridor trying to push aside any thoughts of pyjamas and pillows. He'd only taken a few more steps though when he encountered a third member of the team. The sight made him groan. 

“Not you too,” he said.

“What?” said Martin, eyes wide with exaggerated innocence. Unlike Ray and Jax, he wasn’t wearing footsie pyjamas. He was, however, wearing a set of flannel pyjamas covered in cartoon stars and planets.

“I suppose those are for Ray as well,” said Rip, folding his arms across his chest and nodding at the blankets the professor was carrying.

“Oh, of course,” Martin stammered. “I just wanted to make sure Dr. Palmer was comfortable after you know...” He gestured vaguely in the air. “And I thought a few blankets might, uh, might...” 

Martin was an even worse liar than Ray. He was probably the worst liar on the whole team. Fortunately, he was also the easiest to make crack, so Rip continued to stare at him watching as he grew increasingly uncomfortable.

Finally, Martin blurted out, “It was all Sara’s idea,” and quickly hurried off down the corridor.

Rip watched him go, eyes narrowed in thought. Sara again. Always Sara. What was she up to? he wondered, but then he shook his head and continued on. He didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to know, he told himself and kept repeating it as if it were his new mantra.

When he encountered the next member of the team, Mick, Rip didn’t stop. He didn’t even blink when he saw the pyjamas pants Mick was wearing, white and covered with little red and orange flames, or bother to question why Mick was carrying an excessive amount of both pillows and blankets as well as an extremely large teddy bear. 

Rip simply nodded and said in causal acknowledgement, “Mr. Rory.”

“Hunter,” Mick replied nodding back in the same fashion as he walked by.

He didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to know, Rip repeated to himself. He didn’t need to know. He didn’t want to know...

God, he needed a drink. 

Fortunately, Rip was headed in the right direction. He always kept an ample supply of alcohol in his study, a supply he was in need of more and more these days when dealing with this team. However, when he finally got there, he found he wasn’t the only one who’d thought getting a drink was a good idea.

Leonard Snart stood in the corner of Rip’s study contentedly pouring himself a glass of whiskey from Rip’s personal stash, his bright blue pyjama pants with their little white snowflakes making him stand out against the sepia tones of the rest of the room.

Instead of commenting on Snart’s new wardrobe or uttering his normal protests about the team raiding his liquor as if it were their own, Rip just walked over to Leonard and held out his hand.

Without missing a beat, Snart handed Rip the glass he’d been pouring, and then began pouring another for himself.

Rip quickly downed his drink. He drank it so quickly his throat burned but it was a welcomed burn.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, once he’d finished half the glass. “Do I really want to know what Sara is up to?”

Taking a sip from his own glass, Leonard smirked. “Probably not,” he said, “but I think you’re about to find out.”

“There you are,” came a voice from behind Rip.

Rip spun around.

Sara was there striding towards him, wearing unicorn adorned pyjamas, and carrying something in her arms. “Gideon said you were awake but by the time I got to your room you were gone.” She shoved the bundle she was carrying at him. “Here,” she said. “Put these on.”

Rip cautiously unfolded the bundle. It was a set of pyjamas, a set of flannel pyjamas covered in little cartoon cowboy hats and little cartoon revolvers.

“You can’t seriously think I’ll...” Rip began but quickly stopped when he saw the look Sara was giving him.

“You will put those on,” Sara repeated firmly, pointing a finger at him, an icy fire in her eyes, “and you will join the rest of us in the cargo bay in ten minutes. Understood?”

Rip swallowed. It was like being ordered around back at the academy. He felt the sudden urge to stand to attention and say ‘Yes, Ma’am.’ Instead, he just nodded and said, “Understood.”

Sara gave him one last glare, and then stomped off, the effect somewhat ruined by the fact she was currently wearing big, fluffy, bunny slippers.

Leonard patted him on the back consolingly. “She got the rest of us too. You’re just the last one on her list.”

Rip could only stare at the space where he’d last seen Sara. He downed the rest of his whiskey hoping it would help him make sense of what had just happened. It didn’t. Turning back to Snart, he said, “What the hell is going on?” 

Leonard looked thoughtful for a moment; then said, “I think it started with the Star Trek footsie pyjamas. Ray couldn’t sleep so Sara got the fabricator to make these new fancy pyjamas for him and things just escalated from there.”

Rip shook his head, still not understanding Sara’s sudden determination to have them all in these ridiculous pyjamas. “But why...?”

Leonard interrupted before Rip could finish voicing his question. “You forget what happened today?”

For a moment, Rip wondered what on Earth Snart was talking about; then he remembered. “Ray,” he said with a sigh. “His injuries. She blames herself.” 

Rip hadn’t been there when Ray had been hurt but Sara had. In fact, she was the only member of the team who had been. She’d dragged the injured Ray from the battlefield herself, and then hidden with him in a clump of bushes for almost an hour as she waited for the rest of the team to get to them.

“Yeah, I wonder where she gets that from,” said Snart, giving Rip a pointed look. “Sara seems to have gotten it into her head that she’s the one responsible for keeping people safe when you’re not around.”

Rip pinched his nose and sighed again. Sara, Sara, Sara. She might actually make a good captain if the opportunity arose, better than him even. He should have realized what had happened would still be weighing on her.

“For some reason, she thinks this pyjama thing will help make everything better,” Leonard continued refilling Rip’s glass unasked, “and it’s not like any of us were sleeping anyway. I notice you weren’t.”

“I guess we all have our own demons keeping us up,” Rip replied quietly and sipped his whiskey. “Well,” he added once he’d got a sufficient amount of more whiskey down him, “if this is what will make Sara and Ray feel better...”

Ten minutes later, Rip was headed for the cargo bay wearing cowboy pyjamas and feeling completely ridiculous. Once he reached the cargo bay though all thoughts of how ridiculous he looked fled from his mind. He stared at the room in wide-eyed astonishment.

“What the hell have you done with my cargo bay?” he demanded.

The cargo bay was all but invisible. It was hidden beneath a giant tent-like structure which encompassed the entire room and seemed to be made almost entirely of blankets of various colours joined together.

“Isn’t it awesome?” said Jax who was busy putting some finishing touches to the structure.

Rip continued to stare. “This is what you’ve been up to?”

“Yup,” Jax said, nodding, a proud grin on his face.

“Where did all the blankets come from?”

Jax hesitated clearing his throat and looking somewhat sheepish. “We might have sort of burnt out the fabricator.”

Rip groaned running a hand across his face. “What is it anyway?” he asked gesturing at the bizarre tent.

Jax looked at him in confusion before apparently recalling that Rip had had a rather different upbringing from the rest of them. “It’s a pillow fort,” he explained.

“Blanket fort!” Martin called out from somewhere inside the structure.

“Pillow fort!” Jax yelled back.

“Blanket fort!” Martin countered once more.

Jax rolled his eyes. “Anyway,” he said, “it’s just a fort made out of blankets and pillows that kids usually make, and well, go inside and see for yourself.” He lifted up the corner of a blanket and held out a hand gesturing Rip inside.

Rip gazed at the fort dubiously. He supposed if Jax had had a hand in the construction, he could at least count on the thing staying upright. Getting down on his hands and knees, he slowly crawled through the opening.

Inside the fort, Rip found himself enclosed in a small tunnel made, unsurprisingly, out of blankets. It had blankets hanging overhead for a ceiling and blankets hanging down on either side as walls. The various crates that were usually the only occupants of the cargo bay seemed to have been used as some sort of support structure. The light was dim but he could see more light up ahead. He could also hear the team’s voices coming from the same direction and was that a movie playing? He followed the sounds and the light, and the tunnel soon opened up into a much larger chamber.

It was a nest. There was no other word for it. A nest made of pillows under a canopy of blankets. It was lit with a string of tiny lights they’d once used on a Christmas tree and a pair of lava lamps Rip had no idea where they’d gotten from. The combination of light sources caused odd shadows to dance along the blanket walls. The ceiling for the most part hung fairly low but one end had been raised high enough for one of the screens on the cargo bay wall to be visible, a screen which was currently playing some sort of space movie.

“It’s Star Trek III: The Search for Spock,” said Jax who’d crawled in behind him and had apparently noticed him staring at the screen. “Ray’s request,” he added.

Ray, however, seemed to be missing his requested movie. He was currently asleep. The team lay scattered among the pillows, most reclining against them staring up at the screen as they helped themselves to large bowls of popcorn or bottles of beer. Ray though was dozing against Mick’s side, drooling on his shoulder, a large teddy bear clutched in his arms. Mick glared at Rip as if daring him to comment. Rip wisely kept his mouth shut.

As Rip watched, Sara crawled up to Ray and pulled a spare blanket over him. Rip made his way through the pillows over to her.

“How’s he doing?” Rip asked when he reached her.

“Gideon says his injuries have healed up alright,” said Sara as she tucked the blanket in around Ray, “but he’s still pretty worn out.”

“Ray’s tougher than he looks,” Mick declared with a tone which left no room for argument. “He’ll be fine.” He snorted. “As fine as he ever is. Though I can’t say for how much longer if he doesn’t stop drooling on me.” Despite the threat, Rip couldn’t help noticing how still Mick kept and how quietly he spoke as if not daring to disturb Dr. Palmer’s slumber.

“Well, thankfully he’s getting plenty of rest now,” said Rip softly, glad to see that Ray’s face was neither so drawn nor so pale as it had been when he’d last seen him.

“Yeah, he was having trouble sleeping earlier,” said Sara. “I guess everything that happened was still haunting him.”

“Not just him,” said Rip, gazing at her pointedly. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” she replied quickly, too quickly. There was a tension in the lines of her face and a redness to her eyes which Rip had failed to notice earlier.

“Right,” said Rip, nodding. “Which is why you felt the need to make everyone wear these ridiculous pyjamas and organize the building of a pillow fort.”

“Blanket fort,” Martin corrected automatically from the other side of the nest letting them know the others were, of course, listening in.

Rip and Sara rolled their eyes in unison.

Still snuggled against Mick, Ray shifted slightly and mumbled something in his sleep. 

Sara carefully readjusted the blanket covering him. “It’s just...” she began hesitantly, and then sighed. “Ray needed to forget everything that had happened and so did I, and can you imagine anything more different than what we saw out there today.” She gestured at there surroundings.

Rip gazed about at the nest of pillows with its colourful blanket walls and shifting lights, the team dressed in their ridiculous, cutesy, cartoon pyjamas, and thought of the dark, muddy battlefields they’d seen covered in dead and wounded soldiers. “No, I don’t believe I can,” he replied.

Sara gave him a wry smile and said, “Though I admit I may have gone a bit overboard.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that,” said Rip with his own crooked smile before growing serious once more. “I’d say what you did was just right.” His eyes returned to the dozing Ray. “I forgot to tell you earlier but I wanted to thank you for looking after him, for taking care of Ray when he was injured. It’s good to know someone has the team’s back when I’m not around.”

This time Sara smiled a much truer smile and Rip was glad to see some of the lines of tension leave her face.

“If you two are done being all touchy-feely,” said Mick thoroughly ruining the moment, “think you could shut up and let us watch the damn movie.”

“Yeah,” Snart put in. “Unlike Ray, some of haven’t seen this thing a hundred and one times.”

Rip and Sara shared mutual looks of exasperation before parting, searching for places to rest among the piles of pillows. Rip found a spot beside Martin and settled in staring up at the screen as he tried to figure out what the hell the movie was about. He still thought this whole thing was ridiculous, the pillow fort, the pyjamas, but if this was what the crew needed... And if he was going to spend the night not sleeping anyway he might as well spend it there with the team. Strangely, the visions of battlefields no longer seemed to be bothering him.

Rip let out a large yawn and settled deeper into the pillows.

Five minutes later, Sara came over and quietly tucked a blanket around Rip’s sleeping form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. More sleepy Rip and more cuddles and more Sara. I don't mean to focus quite so much on her. That just seems to keep happening.
> 
> 2\. The pillow fort was first mentioned in Rip's birthday fic and I knew the moment I mentioned it that I would have to write a fic about it.
> 
> 3\. Sara has unicorn pyjamas because for some reason I gave her unicorn pyjama pants back in my old fic Whiskey and Lucky Charms
> 
> 4\. Also, I don't say it enough but thank you, thank you, thank you for all the lovely comment and kudos. They mean so much to me.
> 
> Still to come:  
> \- Just a Little Accident Prone  
> \- Cabin Fever  
> \- A Few Home Comforts  
> \- Good Morning, Waverider  
> \- Hide and Seek or Where's All the Rum Gone?


	16. Just A Little Accident Prone: Sara

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Splitting up this story like the birthday fics because it's getting rather long and this way I can keep the updates reasonably frequent. This one splits up rather well because it's a 5+1 things fic. Five times Rip took care of the team when they were hurt and one time they took care of him.

During his education to become a Time Master as well as learning temporal physics, world history, and how best not to completely screw up the timeline, Rip also received extensive medical training. All Time Masters did. The Time Council thought it might be useful. After all, they were sending their captains out on their own into the far reaches of time on dangerous missions, and it had proven useful on numerous occasions. Rip, however, found the training even more useful when he suddenly became the leader of a motley group of superheroes who had the tendency to be somewhat accident prone.

The fact they're accident prone shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone who knows what sort of trouble the Legends tend to get themselves into both on missions and in their normal lives, if their lives could ever be called normal. You can’t, after all, get into bar brawls up and down the timestream without taking a hit or two and you can’t keep jumping headlong into dangerous situations without your luck running out every once and awhile. The team as a whole didn’t mind occasionally getting a little beat up but sometimes it was more than minors scrapes they received. There were concussions and broken fingers, bruised kidneys and shattered ear drums, sprained ankles and torn ligaments, fractured collar bones and internal bleeding as well as a wide assortment of puncture wounds. In short, almost any injury you could possibly imagine someone on the team had had it.

Thankfully, the medical facilities on the Waverider were extremely advanced, at least they were by early twenty-first century standards. With Gideon’s guidance, the equipment in the medbay could instantly sterilize and cauterize wounds, knit together broken bones, heal brain damage, and even regenerate lost limbs. The things it could do were nothing less than miraculous, but though much was automated, even this advanced equipment had its limits. Someone needed to actually operate things, set them up and flip the switches, and there were some things it simply couldn’t do on its own, things that still required the aid of a simple pair of human hands. 

Mick and Sara had a fair amount of experience with what was essentially battlefield first aid and back alley doctoring while Martin and Ray had a good working knowledge of anatomy and physiology but only Rip had the training and experience with the advanced equipment. He slowly began teaching the others all the many intricacies of the system but until they became experts, Rip often found himself playing doctor to his wayward crew. 

Of course, all of the ship’s fancy medical equipment was completely useless when people didn’t bother to actually go to the medbay...

“What is that?” Rip asked pointing at Sara, or more precisely, at Sara’s arm.

Sara, who was standing in a corner of the bridge with Mick and Ray, the three having recently returned from a mission together, followed Rip’s pointed finger and lifted up her arm gazing at where a good portion of the skin was blistered and red. “I’d say that’s a burn,” she said, sarcastically.

Unable to help himself, Rip’s eyes flicked in the direction of Mr. Rory.

“Don’t look at me,” the large man said. “I make an effort not to go around roasting my teammates these days.”

“For which we are all eternally grateful,” said Rip, clasping his hands together and bowing his head.

“It was the time pirate,” Ray explained. “The one you sent us after. He had this flaming sword, seriously, an actual flaming sword. It was awesome.” His grinned a rather overly enthusiastic grin given the circumstances.

Sara in turn gave a wry smile. “Turns out fighting against a flaming sword isn’t quite the same as fighting against a regular one,” she said, acting as if the whole event, the injury, the aforementioned time pirate, and the flaming sword, was no big deal.

“Be that as it may,” said Rip, trying his best to be patient and failing miserably. “I’m not so much concerned with how you got the injury as why on Earth you’re not down in the medbay getting it treated and why I wasn’t informed!”

Sara tilted her head to the side and gave him a look. “It’s just a little burn,” she said. “It’s not going to kill me.”

“That is not just a little burn,” Rip declared pointing at Sara’s arm once more. “That is a severe and potentially dangerous second degree burn and it needs to be taken care of. We are going to the medbay.”

Sara rolled her eyes like a petulant teenager. “Rip...”

“Now if you wouldn’t mind,” said Rip, gesturing to the bridge’s exit. He briefly considered taking her by the arm but decided he didn’t want to have to treat his own injuries as well as hers.

Giving him one more disgruntled look, Sara led the way out of the room and down the ship’s corridors towards the medbay. 

Once there, Rip, with some gentle persuasion and minor threats, got Sara to sit in one of the medbays’s uncomfortable reclining chairs and placed a medical cuff around her wrist.

“Now this should make things a lot less painful,” said Rip as he commanded Gideon to administer an analgesic.

“I can take a little pain,” said Sara with a snort.

“I have no doubt about that,” Rip replied, softly, recalling the many trials and tribulations Sara had been through in her life. “But you shouldn’t have to. Gideon?” he added directing his voice upward to the A.I.

“Second degree burn to the lower left arm,” Gideon declared as blue light flickered across Sara from above. “Beginning sterilization and cellular regeneration.”

“I’m not exactly worried about scars either,” Sara added.

“But you should be worried about infection,” said Rip, folding his arms across his chest as he glared down at her. “A second degree burn is like a giant gaping wound in your arm letting all the bacteria in. Do you want your arm to get infected? Would you like to have it chopped off and rebuilt? It’s not a pleasant process. Ask Mr. Snart if you have any doubt. And what about septicemia? What if the infection entered your bloodstream and you went into septic shock? Not even Gideon may be able to save you then.”

As Gideon slowly healed Sara’s arm, Rip continued to lecture her on the dangers of infection and the symptoms of septicemia and all its many complications in graphic detail while Sara rested her head back and looked bored.

When Gideon was finished and Sara was left with what looked like nothing more than a mild sunburn, Rip handed her a bottle of ointment and said, “Now put this on the burn once a day for the next week. That should help it heal up the rest of the way and prevent the skin from drying out.”

“Do I also get a lollipop for being a good girl?” Sara asked, raising her eyebrows cheekily.

“Unfortunately, I don’t have any,” Rip replied. “And even if I did, I don’t think you would qualify.”

Sara stuck her tongue out at him, and hopping off the chair, headed out of the room.

“And next time go straight to medbay when you get injured,” Rip called after her.

“Yes, Dad,” came the reply from down the corridor.

Rip shook his head in exasperation.

Several days later, a container filled with lollipops mysteriously appeared in the medbay. Rip didn’t bother to question it. Next time he finished treating Sara’s injuries, three broken ribs and a sprained elbow, he simply handed one over and rolled his eyes when she grinned impishly at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next person on the injured list: Mick


	17. Just A Little Accident Prone: Mick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slightly more serious story In which the word 'annoyed' means so many things...

Battle wounds were a natural consequence of the lives the Legends lead and the difficulties they faced chasing down time aberrations. Rip did try to solve things through non-violent means when he could but that was rarely an option with the missions they found themselves on or with this team in general. Sooner or later, a fight always seemed to break out. The team could, of course, more than hold their own but it didn’t take much for something to go wrong and someone to get hurt, and then once again Rip found himself tending to the wounded.

There were more than just fights though that made their missions dangerous. There were all sorts of perilous situations the team just seemed to love diving into: unstable dilapidated buildings; capsizing ferry boats; ragging wind storms; flaming forest fires; precarious cliff faces; radiation filled nuclear power plants. And the things they did: climbing up the sides of tall towers, Sara; driving antiquated vehicles at ridiculous speeds, Mick; diving into ragging rivers to rescue people, Jax; experimenting with explosive substances, Martin; trying to make friends with rabid dogs, Ray; hanging from a thin cable in a makeshift harness several dozen feet in the air in order to steal a misplaced crystal data core, Leonard. It was no wonder they frequently ended up injured.

Rip just wished they would be a little more careful. They always seemed to be taking, what he felt to be, an unnecessary amount of risks and getting themselves into all sorts of trouble, which was doing extremely detrimental things to his blood pressure and stress levels. As captain, he was responsible for the team’s wellbeing. He had to keep them safe. Perhaps that was why even after he started to teach the others how to use the equipment in the medbay, he still insisted on seeing to most of the injuries himself. He’d been focusing on training Martin especially, as he was the most qualified in terms of medical knowledge. The idea had been to have the professor take some of the responsibility and handle things in an emergency but Rip couldn’t shake the feeling that he should be the one tending to things.

And with this team there was always plenty of opportunity for that...

“What I don’t understand is why you felt diving through the window was the best option,” Rip said pointedly as he gazed at Mick’s bare back, eyes running across it, tracing the scars both old and new.

“It was the quickest way down,” Mick replied with a shrug.

“Stay still,” Rip admonished, placing a hand on Mick’s shoulder to reinforce the statement. “Getting these out is hard enough as it is.”

Mick grumbled something uncomplimentary under his breath. 

Rip ignored it.

One of the chairs in the medbay had been tilted back all the way leaving it more of a bed than a chair and Mick lay sprawled across it, lying on his front with his head resting on his folded arms. This gave Rip both a good view of and easy access to Mick’s back which was what he needed. He continued to scan the scarred flesh and it wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for. Using a pair of tweezers, he took a hold of the shard of glass and slowly pulled it out leaving behind a long red streak. A similar red stain covered the piece of glass. It clinked against several others as Rip dropped it into a nearby container.

“You know we need to get all of these out before Gideon can do her work,” he said as he searched for more glass. “So the sooner we finish the better.” 

Spotting another shard, Rip got a hold of it with the tweezers. This one was dug in pretty deep and he had to use a bit more force to remove it. When it finally came out, Mick flinched slightly and he twisted his head around to glare at Rip. 

“Watch it,” he growled.

“If you would just let me give you a painkiller...” said Rip, tiredly, restarting an old argument.

“I told you I don’t need any of that stuff messing with my head,” said Mick, settling back down with a huff. 

Rip sighed. “Fine, fine,” he said and got back to the task at hand. “You know you could have just taken the stairs to get down. There wasn’t any rush.”

“There was a fight,” said Mick, matter-of-factedly. “I had to get to you guys.”

“Yes, but we would have survived the few seconds it would have taken you to find a more suitable route.”

“Couldn’t know that for sure. Besides, the fight might have been over by then. I didn’t want to miss out.”

Rip stared at the back of Mick’s head in disbelief. “So in order to not miss out on a fight, you decided to dive through a second storey window?”

Mick nodded. “Exactly.”

“After which,” Rip elaborated, “you landed on your back right among all the broken glass.”

Mick’s shoulders hunched up. “I misjudged the landing,” he grumbled.

Rip rolled his eyes. Scanning Mick’s back, he spotted another bit of glass. He was just about to grab ahold of it with the tweezers when Mick shifted once more. “Would you stay still,” he snapped.

“Why are you so tetchy?” Mick snapped back. “It’s not like you’re the one with a back full of glass.”

Rip took a deep breath trying to get his temper back under control. “Maybe,” he said in a slightly more even tone, “I dislike it when the members of my team take stupid risks.”

Mick twisted his head around once more and scowled at Rip. “Are you calling me stupid again?”

“No, I meant...” Rip gave a frustrated sigh. “Never mind.”

“Hey, if I hadn’t taken that stupid jump,” said Mick, lifting himself up on his elbow so he could glare at Rip properly, “I might not have been there in time to help you guys.”

“And what if when taking that stupid jump, you had broken your neck,” Rip exclaimed throwing a hand into the air, “or one of the pieces of glass had severed an artery and you had bled to death before we got you back to the Waverider. If that had happened, I’d have... I’d have...” Rip swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment recalling how he had felt when the fight had been over and he’d first seen the state of Mick’s back, his shirt shredded and bloody, how he had felt when he had realized what Mick had done. “I’d have been very annoyed,” Rip concluded, quietly. 

Mick frowned at him, the furrows in his forehead deepening, and then they suddenly smoothed out as realization dawned on his face. “Oh,” he said, dumbfounded.

Not quite meeting Mick’s eyes, Rip gestured to the recumbent chair. “Lie down,” he said. “There’s still more glass that needs to come out.”

With a bewildered look on his face, Mick lay back down, and Rip got back to work. Using the tweezers once more, he pulled out another shard. This was a big one and a trickle of blood trailed down Mick’s back when it came out. Rip quickly grabbed a cloth and pressed it against the wound waiting for the bleeding to slow.

After a few moments of silence, Mick cleared his throat. “Maybe next time... Maybe next time, I could try to be a bit more careful,” he said, hesitantly. “You know just so you don’t end up... annoyed.”

“I would appreciate that,” Rip replied gratefully, dabbing at the blood on Mick’s back. 

“I guess I’m not really used to people getting...” Mick continued, every word forced out as if through an immense struggle, “getting annoyed when I do risky crap. Well,” he added, “no one except Snart.”

“You might find yourself surprised by just how many people around here would get... annoyed if something were to happen to you,” said Rip, softly.

Mick let out what sounded like a disbelieving huff of air but he didn’t comment any further and remained in thoughtful silence as Rip pulled out the last pieces of glass. 

Of course, Mick being Mick, he never did stop taking ridiculous risks once he had healed up and rejoined the team on their missions. He did, however, stop complaining quite so much when Rip yelled at him about them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Jax and Martin (they share a psychic bond so they get to share a fic too)
> 
> PS: Sorry, I'm so bad at replying to comments, but as asked, Snart will be in this mini series of fics (saved for last because he's special), and there may also be a Snart birthday fic in the future. Possibly. I hadn't intended to write one but it's been requested a few times, so I decided I will try. I'm just still trying to figure out what to write.


	18. Just A Little Accident Prone: Jax and Martin

Of course, not all injuries occurred in battle or on missions. The team proved to be just as accident prone off the battlefield as on. There was the time when Martin was helping Jax with some repairs and managed to get his fingers caught in a closing airlock door. There was the time Mick tossed a particularly large book to Ray and Ray not seeing it ended up with a concussion. There was the time Jax wanted to find out just how sharp Sara’s knives were and the time Leonard stepped on one of Sara’s shuriken, both occasions ending with more than a little blood being spilt. In Rip’s opinion, a lot of injuries could be prevented if Sara would just stop leaving her weapons lying around everywhere.

And there was the time Mick accidentally set the kitchen on fire causing multiple burns and cases of smoke inhalation among the crew. Actually, there were numerous times Mick accidentally set the kitchen on fire but on that occasion things got even more out of control than usual. At least, Rip always assumed the fires were accidental with Mick you could never be sure. Rip had, on more than one occasion, considered banning Mick from cooking but Mick was actually a very good cook, possibly the best out of all the Legends. He just couldn’t seem to manage to cook anything without setting something on fire. 

In the end, it didn’t matter how the injuries occurred. No matter what happened, Rip still ended up treating them, not that he always found out what happened. Sara still refused to tell him how she had broken her little toe and Mick had only glared at him when Rip had asked how he ended up with the knitting needle in his leg. Rip might never have even found out about either one, but for safety’s sake, he had asked Gideon to inform him or Professor Stein anytime someone tried to access the medbay’s systems.

Martin was slowly becoming quite competent with the equipment in the medbay but he still needed help on occasion...

Upon entering the medbay, Rip found both halves of Firestorm waiting for him, neither one of them looking particularly happy. Martin was pacing restlessly back and forth across the small room while Jax sat in one of the chairs cradling his left arm, a pained grimace on his face.

“What happened?” Rip asked, glancing from one to the other.

“There you are,” Martin exclaimed in relief stopping in mid-pace to make his way over to Rip. “Jax has had an accident. He needs immediate medical attention and I’m afraid it’s a bit beyond my expertise.”

Concerned, Rip immediately swung his head towards Jax. “Mr. Jackson, are you...?”

“I’m fine,” said Jax in the tired voice of someone who had been asked how he was doing one too many times. “It’s really not that bad.”

“I wouldn’t describe a dislocated shoulder as not that bad,” Martin said, sharply. He ran a hand through his white hair and sighed. “This would have never happened if you hadn’t insisted on doing such a ridiculous, idiotic thing. You need to be more careful.”

“I was helping Ray,” Jax protested. “It was like an experiment. As a scientist, surely you can appreciate that.”

“Really?” said Martin, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “And precisely what hypothesis were you attempting to test with this experiment?”

“Uh...” Jax cleared his throat and winced sheepishly. “How flying as Firestorm compares to flying as the Atom?”

“Clearly it’s rather different or you would never have ended up in such a state,” Martin exclaimed.

Rip held up his hands in an attempt to stop the bickering. “Gentlemen, if we could get back to the matter at hand,” he said. “Now...” He stopped, a rather worrying thought suddenly occurring to him. “Wait.” He turned to Jax. “Please tell me you didn’t actually try to use the Atom suit.”

“Nah, man,” Jax replied.

Rip’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Just the boots.”

Rip groaned. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he said, “Dare I ask why?”

“Ray had made some modifications and needed to test them out,” Jax explained. “He couldn’t do the calibrations and wear them at the same time, so I volunteered to help.”

“Whereupon,” Martin continued for him, “things, of course, went completely and utterly pear shaped and Jax went flying shoulder first into a tree. I intend to have a few words with Dr. Palmer when he gets back.”

“Where is he?” asked Rip, surprised the man wasn’t around considering what had happened to Jax.

“Still outside trying to retrieve one of his boots,” said Martin. “Apparently it ended up in the middle of a nearby lake.”

“Marvelous,” Rip exclaimed, sarcastically. Just what they needed, part of Ray’s high-tech suit lost in 17th century New Zealand.

Martin took a deep breath and managed to rein in his temper. “Well, what’s done is done,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Right now I’m a little more concerned with Jefferson. Please tell me you know how to reset a dislocated shoulder. Gideon says she can’t do it herself.”

Rip nodded. “I’ve done it a few times.” Admittedly of those few times, twice had been on himself. Once, it had been for Hex who had, much to the man’s embarrassment, been knocked off his horse. Luckily, Jax wasn’t the type of person to thank Rip the way Hex had by throwing a punch in his direction. Whiskey was definitely not the best painkiller.

Rip made his way over to the medical display screen which sat on the wall between the room's two chairs. “Nothing appears to be broken,” he said as he gazed at the scan Gideon had done of Jax, “so it shouldn’t be much of problem to get it back in place.” He pushed a few buttons on the screen, and then turned to Jax. “I’ve had Gideon give you a muscle relaxant which should make things go a bit smoother. A painkiller too as I imagine that shoulder hurts quite a bit,” he added with a wry smile.

“Thanks, man,” said Jax, gratefully.

“Maybe you should give him a bit more,” said Martin, who had come over and was now hovering at Rip’s elbow. “He is in rather a lot of pain.”

“He’ll feel a lot better once the shoulder joint is back in place,” Rip reassured Martin before turning back to Jax. “Now what I’m going to do is take your arm and slowly pull it around and up until things slide into place. It’ll hurt a lot but I promise you it will be much better when it’s done.”

“Alright,” said Jax, visibly bracing himself.

Rip took ahold of Jax’s arm keeping it bent at the elbow.

“You are sure you know what you’re doing?” asked Martin, still hovering.

“I assure you I do,” Rip replied as he worked. Still holding Jax’s bent arm firmly and maintaining constant tension on it, he turned it around so it was pointing away from Jax.

“And you will be careful?” said Martin, interrupting once more. “It’s just I’ve read that if you do it incorrectly you can cause severe nerve damage and even internal bleeding.”

Rip sighed. “Martin, perhaps it would be best if you stood over there,” he said, nodding towards the other side of the room.

Martin let out an indignant huff but moved out of the way.

Rip and Jax shared amused looks.

“Alright,” said Rip. “Just breath through the pain. If you want me to stop at any time, just tell me.”

Jax nodded.

Slowly, Rip moved Jax’s arm upward. When it was level with Jax’s shoulder, Rip felt the joint slide into place. It did so with an audible clunk. This was accompanied by a loud hiss of pain from Jax. Neither the clunk nor the hiss was unexpected. What surprised Rip was the sudden thud from behind him. Turning his head, he saw that Martin was now lying prone on the floor.

“Did he just...” he said, frowning.

“Maybe you should have given him the painkiller,” said Jax.

Rip wasn’t sure if it was a backlash from the pair’s psychic connection or if it had simply been the sound of Jax’s shoulder popping back into place but Martin had clearly just passed out.

And now Rip had two patients. 

He looked from one to the other. “Uh, Gideon?” he said.

“The shoulder joint is in its proper place,” the A.I. replied. “I can begin repairing the torn muscles and ligaments.”

“Get started on that then,” said Rip. He turned back to Jax. “You’re alright?”

“Fine,” said Jax. “Just check on Grey.”

Rip went over and crouched down beside the professor’s fallen form. “Professor?” He tapped the man’s face lightly. “Martin?”

Martin didn’t respond and Rip’s forehead creased with worry. He checked his pulse. It seemed steady, his breathing too.

“Captain,” said Gideon, “preliminary scans indicate Professor Stein hit his head when he fell and is now suffering from a concussion.”

Rip groaned. “You have got to be kidding me.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Any other injuries?”

“None that I can detect,” said the A.I.

“Is he going to be alright?” asked Jax, peering anxiously from his seat.

“Yes. I just have to...” Rip glanced from the unconscious Martin to the empty medical chair and grimaced. “I don’t suppose Mr. Rory is currently on board.”

“I think he’s out helping Ray find his missing boot,” Jax supplied. “I’d give you a hand but...” he gestured to his injured shoulder which was currently engulfed in Gideon’s blue healing light.

Realizing he was on his own, Rip sighed. With his luck, he would end up throwing out his back and then all three of them would be injured.

Bending down, Rip grabbed Martin under the armpits and dragged him over to the other chair. Once there, with some effort, Martin was unfortunately not a small man, Rip pulled him up to his feet, and then guided him in a gentle fall backwards onto the chair. Martin landed with a light thump. Rip let out another sigh, this one of relief, and placed the medical cuff around Martin’s wrist.

“Gideon,” Rip said, somewhat out of breath.

“Reducing swelling and beginning cellular regeneration,” said Gideon as blue light descended on Martin.

“But he is going to be okay, right?” Jax asked again.

Rip glanced over at the results of Gideon’s current scan of Martin displayed on the nearby screen. “He’ll be fine,” he reassured Jax.

“You sure?” 

Rip gave a wry smile. Apparently fretting over your partner’s welfare came as part of being Firestorm. “I’m sure,” he said. “In fact, he should be waking up any moment now.”

Right on cue, Martin groaned and began to stir raising a hand to his head. “What...?” he mumbled.

“Congratulations, Professor,” said Rip. “You have the honour of being my second patient today.”

“What?” Martin said again, his eyes widening as he woke up the rest of the way. He gazed around in confusion. “How...?”

“You passed out,” said Jax, looking relieved now that Martin was awake.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Martin, rubbing his injured head.

“I’m afraid it’s true,” said Rip as he gazed at Gideon’s medical display, pleased to note that both men appeared to be on the mend. “You passed out and hit your head. You have a bit of a concussion but Gideon’s taking care of it.”

Martin groaned. “Of all the...”

Jax grinned in amusement. “Now who needs to be more careful.”

Martin glared at him. “This wasn’t my fault. Clearly it was some unexpected side effect from our psychic connection.”

“Or you just can’t take the sight of a guy getting his shoulder put back in place,” Jax teased. “I never realized you were so squeamish.”

“I am not,” Martin sputtered. “I’ll have you know...”

Rip held up his hands once more. “Gentlemen, I really don’t think this is the time or the place for...”

“Maybe you should stay out of medbay from now on,” said Jax. “Just in case you pass out again.”

“Well, maybe I should be the one doing the flying,” countered Martin. “So we don’t end up hitting anymore trees.”

“You mean so we can hit buildings instead?”

“I think I would be very good at flying.”

“Not if it’s anything like the way you drive.”

“What’s wrong with how I drive?”

Rip hung his head and let out a tired groan. “Gideon, keep an eye on them, will you,” he said.

“Yes, Captain,” the A.I. replied.

Rubbing his forehead in anticipation of an oncoming headache, Rip quickly left room.

Behind him, the sound of squabbling voices continued.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It should be noted that I can't guarantee the medical accuracy of anything written here. I am in no way an expert, but I did do some research. I was going to have Rip fix Jax's shoulder using the typical Hollywood method of just slamming it back into place but after a bit of googling, I discovered that though there are many methods of fixing a dislocated shoulder, that is one you should definitely not use, so I tried to describe one of the methods you are supposed to use. 
> 
> Next up: Ray


	19. Death by Chef Boyardee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Sorry. I seem to be having one of those 'What the hell did I just write? This isn't what I was supposed to be writing.' moments. Sometimes my brain comes up with these things and I have to write them down straight away, and I end up ignoring all the other stories on my increasingly long list of things to write.

Emerging from the darkness of unconsciousness, the first thing Rip became aware of was pain, a dull but persistent pain originating from somewhere in the vicinity of his temple. It was soon followed by several more little pinpoints of pain from various random places all over his body. 

What happened? he wondered, his thoughts feeling slow and muddy. Had he been attacked? He didn’t remember being attacked.

The next thing Rip became aware of was the fact he was lying down. Embarrassingly, he seemed to be sprawled out on a metal floor. He could feel the cold surface beneath him.

He’d been on the ship. He knew that. He must still be there. Had something happened to the Waverider? Were the others alright? He tried to remember but the memories slipped away from him.

He lay there, eyes closed, mind a muddled mess, wondering what the hell was going on and trying not to provoke the constant throbbing in his head into a larger state of agony by doing something as stupid as moving.

Then Rip became aware of the voices.

“What the hell did you do?”

That was Sara. She appeared to be angry, very angry. That was a bad sign. An angry Sara was never a good thing. Sara got vicious when she was angry.

“It was an accident.”

And that was Ray. He appeared to be upset about something. What was he talking about? What had been an accident?

“An accident?” said Sara.

It didn’t sound like she believed him. Rip could almost hear her raised eyebrows. He wasn’t going to have to stop Sara from killing Ray, was he? He really wasn’t up to that at the moment.

“Don’t look at me. Haircut’s the one who screwed up.”

Oh, and Mick was there too. Wonderful. At least, the team appeared to be alright. It was only him who seemed to have a bit of a problem. Nothing he had heard so far, though, was helping him figure it out. He still didn't know what was going on or what had happened to him.

However, things were made somewhat clearer by a sudden cry from Jax who had apparently just appeared on the scene.

“Oh, my God. You killed Rip!”

“I didn’t mean to,” said Ray, the distress in his voices raising it to a high-pitched volume. 

Wait, thought Rip. Did that mean he was dead? If this was death, the afterlife certainly left a lot to be desired.

“He’s not dead,” said Sara.

Oh, good.

“At least, I’m pretty sure he’s not,” she added.

That really wasn’t very helpful. He would really like to know one way or the other, though if he were dead, this would clearly be hell.

“What!” exclaimed Ray, his voice reaching new levels in his panic. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod...”

“If he is dead, can I have his stuff? Some of that junk he’s collected might actually be worth something.”

Yes, thank you, Mr. Snart. That really made him feel loved and cared for. And his stuff wasn’t junk. It was a collection of unique and exquisite items gathered from across the timeline.

“Can I have that silver skull he keeps on his desk?” Mick asked.

“Sure, but I’m taking the squid statue,” said Snart, “for sentimental reasons.”

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,” Ray continued, babbling non-stop.

Definitely hell.

“Ms. Lance was only teasing, Raymond. In case you hadn’t noticed, the Captain is clearly still breathing. So maybe we could concentrate on helping him instead of divvying up his stuff.”

Martin. A voice of reason at last. So he wasn’t dead then.

“Thank God,” Ray said in relief and Rip echoed the sentiment.

“Too bad, Haircut,” said Mick. “Maybe next time. I can give you a few suggestions on how to...”

“I wasn’t trying to kill him!” Ray cried. “I told you it was an accident.”

“That’s what they always say,” said Snart with an audible smirk.

Of course, now Rip was starting to wish he really were dead.

The conversation quickly degenerated into who was planning to kill who and how it would be best to go about it.

That was it. Rip had had enough. With what seemed like a ridiculous amount of effort, he slowly opened his eyes. He was forced to blink several times before his blurry vision fully cleared. Once it had, the sight he saw made him seriously want to close his eyes once more and continue feigning unconsciousness.

He was lying on the floor in the galley completely surrounded by the members of his team. Sara and Jax were kneeling down on either side of him while the others stood around looming above. 

It actually took a moment or two for any of them to notice his eyes were open. They all seemed much more interested in the continuing argument between Ray, Snart, and Mick. 

Finally, Jax happened to look his way. “Hey,” he said. “Look who’s not dead.”

And suddenly everyone’s gaze was on him.

Rip cleared his throat feeling somewhat disconcerted under all the attention. “Um, yes,” he said. “So it would appear.”

“Are you alright?” asked Sara, scrutinizing him carefully, a concerned look on her face.

“I believe so.”

He pushed himself up onto his elbows, and then sincerely wished he hadn’t as the world wavered around him and a drumming started up in his skull. Grimacing, he rubbed his sore temple. 

“What...?” he began but as he did so his elbow accidentally hit something which rolled loudly across the floor. He glanced over at it.

It was a tin can. In fact, there were numerous tin cans all around him. Reaching over, he picked one up and stared at it in confusion. It was wrapped in a blue label. At the top of the label it said Chef Boyardee and beneath that in larger letters it said PAC-MAN: Pasta in GOLDEN CHICKEN flavored sauce. At the bottom of the label was a spoon filled with oddly shaped pieces of pasta and a bizarre cartoon character who appeared to be eating one of them.

“What the hell!” Rip exclaimed.

The team once again proved very unhelpful. Mick simply grinned. Snart smirked. Sara and Jax both appeared to be trying very hard not to laugh. Martin, on the other hand, just shook his head with disbelief. It was Ray who stood out though. He was wringing his hands and looking extremely guilty.

“Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?” Rip cried.

This time all eyes turned to Ray.

“Uh,” he began hesitantly. “Do you remember how you sent Mick and I out to get groceries?”

Frowning, Rip nodded. He did recall that. They’d been low on food, or rather, low on what the team called food. They tended to grow rather tetchy if they didn’t have what they termed proper food ie. the sort of junk you could find in a typical American grocery store in the late twentieth and early twenty-first centuries. Since they had landed in Oregon in the mid 1980s to deal with the latest time aberration, Rip had thought it would be a good idea to send Ray and Mick out to top up their supplies.

Wait. A lost memory re-emerged. Hadn’t he come to the galley to check on what they’d bought?

“Well,” Ray continued, “when we were in the store, we happened to spot some Pac-Man Pasta and it turns out both Mick and I really, really loved Pac-Man pasta. You can’t get it anymore, in our time I mean, so we thought we’d buy all the ones they had at the store. And then we, uh,...” Ray cleared his throat. “Then we went to several other stores and bought all the ones they had too.”

Rip gazed at all the cans scattered around the room. “How many did you buy?”

Ray shrugged. “Um, 200? Maybe more. I kind of lost count.”

Letting out a groan, Rip rubbed his throbbing head once more. “As ridiculous and inane as that may be, I don’t see what it has to do with me waking up on the galley floor after having been apparently knocked unconscious.”

Ray gave another guilty wince. “Well, you see when we got all these cans back here, we needed to figure out somewhere to put them all. Mick and I were discussing this when we suddenly got the great idea to build a huge tower out of them. Somehow this turned into a bit of a competition to see who could build the tallest tower, and you see...”

“I won,” said Mick interrupting the story, a smug grin on his face.

“He did,” Ray agreed with a nod. “Apparently I didn’t get the structural integrity quite right on mine. I was just putting the last few cans on when you happened to walk into the room and the thing kind of... um... toppled over on top of you.”

Rip stared at him in disbelief. “Are you telling me I was rendered unconscious by canned pasta?”

Ray grinned sheepishly. “Uh, yes?”

Rip could only continue to stare.

Fifteen years as a Time Master. Thirteen years in command of the Waverider. He’d faced down countless time pirates, powerful evil warlords, vicious marauding mutants, and once even a gigantic, silver space dragon which had fallen out of an inter-dimensional portal. He’d fought against people with incredible weapons and unimaginable powers. 

And he’d just been taken down by canned pasta by a member of his own team.

It started off as a sort of spasm in his diaphragm but it grew moving upward until his chest started to shake; then it moved up even further into his throat causing odd noises to emerge.

The faces around him suddenly grew serious.

“Rip,” Martin said with concern. “Are you...?”

But before Martin could finish his question, Rip had fallen back onto the floor, bellows of hysterical laughter erupting from him.

Ray gazed at him, wide-eyed. “My God,” he said. “I really have killed him.”

“Broken him, at least,” said Snart, shaking his head. “And here I was hoping I’d be the one to finally do that.”

“Uh. Should we take him to the medbay or something?” asked Jax, worriedly. 

“Maybe we should have Gideon check him for brain damage?” suggested Mick gazing at the hysterical captain with raised eyebrows.

Sara just smiled at Rip. “In a minute,” she said. “Let him be for now. It might actually do him some good.”

Rip barely heard her. He was too busy laughing, tears running down his cheeks as he rolled around on the floor among the cans of pasta.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, back to what I was supposed to be writing. Next one is going to be quite a bit more serious though I doubt it could be sillier.


	20. Just A Little Accident Prone: Ray

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one turned into a bit of an action fic so please be warned that it has rather more violence and blood than fluff.

Though some days Rip was convinced that the whole reason the team took so many risks and were so accident prone was that it was simply part of a much larger plan of theirs to drive him to the brink of insanity, or heart failure, he had yet to decide which, he did worry. He tended to worry quite a lot actually. Sara was always pestering him about it. 

The problem was he wasn’t actually a doctor. None of the team were doctors, at least not in the medical sense. And should their luck finally run out, if someone was gravely hurt beyond what Rip knew how to fix and they were out in the far reaches of history when medical knowledge involved not much more than leeches, little green leaves, and prayers to the gods, there would be nothing he could do since jumping to a time when there was a decent doctor around would most likely kill the injured person anyway.

The medical technology on the Waverider might seem miraculous but it wasn’t infallible. It had its limits. As much as Rip wished it could, it couldn’t heal everything. That had been proven when they’d lost Kendra and Carter’s son, Professor Boardman on their very first mission, and then again when they’d almost lost Kendra and only some inventiveness and skillful flying from Ray had saved her. They’d lost Carter too though they had gotten him back, sort of. They’d lost him before they even had the chance to get him to the Waverider. 

And that was Rip’s other worry.

Because what was the point of having advanced medical equipment if you couldn’t get to it in time...

Rip didn’t hear the shot that hit Ray. He just saw him go down clutching his leg, a surprised look on his face. He did, however, hear the shots that came afterwards flying by him and pinging off the cars surrounding them.

Ducking down, Rip grabbed Ray and dragged him to safety between a red SUV and a silver compact.

“I think I’ve been shot,” said Ray, looking somewhat dazed.

“Stay here,” said Rip. He left Ray leaning against the side of the compact and carefully peered over the hood of the SUV.

A bullet shattered the headlight near him and Rip ducked back down.

Tapping the communicator inside his ear, Rip said, “Sara, you know that gang you were supposed to be tracking down?”

“Yeah?” came the reply over the comlink.

“I think they found us.”

Several more bullets rained down on them slamming against the cars and shattering windows.

There was the sound of cursing over the comlink. “Where are you?” Sara asked.

“In the parking lot behind the theatre.”

“We’ll be right there.”

Rip glanced at Ray who was rapidly growing pale. “Hurry,” he said. “Dr. Palmer’s been shot.”

Rip pulled out the gun from the suit jacket he was wearing, not his usual laser revolver, a regular projectile pistol. It was the 1990s after all and he was trying to blend in. He and Ray had been posing as foreign business men before everything went to hell. He peeked over the SUV again but he still couldn’t see their attackers, so he fired in the general direction the shots seemed to be coming from hoping to deter them.

The incoming shots thankfully stopped and Rip took advantage of the momentary break to check on Dr. Palmer.

“Ray?” he said crawling over to the former billionaire.

Ray blinked at him. “I’ve been shot,” he said in a slightly confused tone.

“Yes, I know,” Rip replied. 

Rip took a look at his leg. The bullet had hit Ray mid-thigh and a fair amount of blood was seeping out of the hole it had left. For a moment, Rip thought the bullet had hit the femoral artery and a feeling of panic washed over him, but then he realized that if it had, the blood would be gushing out, not seeping. The bullet must have hit something though.

“I’ve been shot,” Ray said again, clearly suffering from shock.

“Yes, but you’re going to be fine. I promise.” Rip put both hands on the bullet wound and pressed down hard trying to slow the bleeding.

Ray let out a brief cry grimacing in pain.

“You’re going to be fine,” Rip repeated, desperately hoping he was telling the truth. He looked for an exit wound but couldn’t find one. That was a bad sign.

“I’ve been shot,” Ray said for the third time. “I’ve never been shot before. I mean technically I have but that was with an arrow not a bullet. Which do you think is worse: an arrow or a bullet? I can’t decide. I’m not really liking either one right now. You know I think I might just pass out...” Ray’s babbling trailed off and his eyes began to close.

“No, no, no,” said Rip, smacking Ray on the cheek. “Stay with me.”

Ray’s eyes jerked open. “I’ve been shot,” he said again, unhelpfully.

Just then, the shooting started up once more, the bullets flying over their heads. Rip automatically ducked lower. The bullets still weren’t reaching them but it sounded as if the shooters had gotten closer.

Keeping one hand on Ray’s wound, Rip reached for his gun with his other and used it to fire a few shots into the air. That made the attackers pause again but only for a few seconds.

“Bloody hell,” Rip exclaimed. He put the gun away and tapped his communicator once more. “Sara?”

“We’re still a few minutes away,” she replied. “Hang on.”

Rip didn’t think they had a few minutes. Probably sooner rather than later, the gang was going to realize there was nothing stopping them from coming close enough to get a clear shot, but if Rip let go of Ray’s leg to shoot back... Ray was bleeding out much too quickly. It wasn't slowing down and with the state Ray was in, Rip couldn’t count on him to keep the pressure on the wound himself. Wrapping his jacket around it might help but not much. Getting an idea, Rip let go and with bloodstained hands, pulled the tie from his neck, suddenly very glad he’d been forced to pose as a business man that day. He quickly tied the tie around the top of Ray’s leg as a makeshift tourniquet.

“What...?” said Ray dazedly.

Rip held up a hand. “Just wait here. I'll be back soon.”

Going back to the SUV, Rip pulled out his gun, his real gun this time. The team were going to have fun ribbing him for using future tech when he’d specifically told them not to, but at this point, he didn’t care. Sticking his head out once more, he saw movement, a human shape moving behind a large blue truck. A bullet scraped the front of the SUV much too close and he crouched down once more. He wasn’t going to be able to get a clear shot. It would be difficult to get one of them let alone all. He wasn’t even sure how many there were and he didn’t have time to pick them off one by one, but that didn’t matter. He knew approximately where they were. That was the important thing.

Upping the power setting on his revolver as high as it would go, Rip jumped up and fired at the truck. The blue beam of the gun hit the vehicle making it glow momentarily before it burst apart in a spectacular explosion.

Rip didn’t bother to wait to see what the explosion had done to their attackers. He just headed back to Ray as quickly as he could.

Ray had grown even paler in the short time Rip had been away and his eyes had drifted shut. The tourniquet had slowed the bleeding down but hadn’t stopped it completely. Ray’s pant leg was soaked with blood.

“Ray,” said Rip, shaking his shoulder. “Ray!”

“Hmm,” said Ray, sleepily, his eyelids slowly cracking open.

“I need you to stay awake,” said Rip.

Ray’s eyes opened wider and he grimaced in renewed pain. “I’ve been shot,” he said for the fifth time.

“Which is why you need to stay awake,” Rip replied. His first aid training kicking in, he took a hold of Ray’s shoulders guiding him down towards the ground. “Lie down.”

“I thought you said I had to stay awake,” said Ray, frowning.

“Yes,” said Rip, “but I need you to do it lying down.”

Rip settled Ray on the parking lot’s tarmac and removed his jacket bundling it up and placing it under Ray’s head for a pillow; then renewing pressure on the bullet hole, he lifted up Ray’s wounded leg. Now positioned above Ray’s heart, the wound finally seemed to stop bleeding or at least, slowed down enough that it was barely noticeable.

Rip sighed in relief but the relief didn’t last long. Ray’s eyes soon started to close once more. 

“I said stay awake,” Rip ordered putting all of his authority as captain into his voice.

Ray’s eyes snapped back open. Gazing up at Rip in confusion, he said, “What’s going on?”

“You got shot,” Rip reminded him.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ray. Looking at his leg, he added, “Is the bullet still in there?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rip replied. Craning his neck, he peered around hoping to catch sight of the rest of the team but there was still no sign of them.

“Cool,” said Ray with a tired grin. “Can I keep it?”

Rip turned back staring at him in disbelief. “What?”

“When you take it out,” Ray explained, “can I keep? You know, like a souvenir.”

“Seriously?” said Rip, still unable to believe what he was hearing. He couldn’t decide if Ray was getting delirious or simply being Ray.

Ray shrugged as best he could from his position on the ground. “It’s my first gunshot wound. I want something to remember it by.”

“You mean other than the scar you’ll undoubtedly be left with?” Rip said sarcastically, and then he sighed. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll make you a deal. You stay awake until we get back to the ship and I’ll let you keep the bullet.”

Ray pursed his lips seeming to muse on the proposal for a while before finally saying, “Deal.” He gave several slow blinks. “’S not going to be easy though,” he said, his voice slightly slurred and his eyes beginning to fall shut once more.

Rip really hated to do it but he pressed against the wound, hard. 

The pain was enough to jolt Ray back awake. 

“Don’t forget our deal,” said Rip. “If you want that bullet, you’d better stay awake.”

“Right,” said Ray with a dazed nod. He gazed at his blood soaked leg. The shock must have been starting to wear off because his forehead creased with worry and an edge of panic started to seep into his voice as he said, “You know that really doesn’t look very good.”

“You’ll be fine,” said Rip trying to reassure him while trying to keep any of his own anxiety out of his voice. “We’ll get you back to the ship and Gideon will have you healed up in no time; then you can have your souvenir and Mick can make fun of you for it.”

“Mick will love it,” said Ray, showing his sense of unreasonable optimism was still intact.

“So long as you’re still alive to show it to him,” Rip whispered quietly to himself.

It was a harrowing and infinitely long few minutes and it took several more interventions from Rip but Ray did thankfully manage to stay awake until the rest of the team arrived. Rip didn’t think he’d ever been more relieved than when he finally heard Sara and Mick calling to them. Ray even managed to stay at least half-awake as he got carried back to the ship in Mick’s arms though the fact Mick kept threatening to do horrible things to him if he passed out might have had something to do with that.

Once in the medbay, Rip was able to set up a plasma transfusion and give Ray painkillers and all the other things he would need in order to keep his heart pumping while Rip carefully dug the bullet out of his leg. That part proved relatively easy and soon Gideon was able to cauterize the wound and begin the healing process, knitting all the damaged tissue back together. Ray was left resting comfortably while Rip was left with drying blood on his hands, the shaky feeling that accompanied fading adrenaline, and one used bullet.

Rip stared at the bullet. Well, he thought, a deal’s a deal.

The bullet was cleaned and placed on a small table beside Ray as he slept. Ray’s face lit up in delight when he woke up and saw it there. Picking up the bullet, he turned it over in his hands gazing at it with a large grin on his face. Confounded and amazed, the poor beleaguered Captain shook his head at the sight, but he couldn’t help the small crooked smile which appeared on his face also.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Snart!
> 
> PS: Any typos found in this fic will be blamed on my current cold.


	21. Just A Little Accident Prone: Snart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. I seem to have gotten a bit carried away again. This was supposed to be a single scene but things kept getting added to it. Partially written while sick in bed for authenticity.

There were illnesses to be treated also though they occurred much less frequently. Before they had even begun time travelling, Rip had made sure all of the team received broad spectrum immunizations to protect them against most of the major diseases they might encounter. However even the Waverider didn’t have vaccinations against every disease out there. It simply wasn’t possible. There were just too many. There were countless disease with countless variations which existed throughout the timeline. In the past, there were ones long forgotten to history and in the future, there were ones that had only just been invented usually in ways that made creating a vaccine especially difficult.

There was also still no cure for the common cold.

The Legends had not been particularly impressed when they found that out. A rather nasty cold had made its rounds through the team shortly after they’d defeated Savage, the blame falling squarely on Jax as he was the first one to get it. That was the problem with working and living together in such close quarters, diseases tended to get passed on. When the team had asked Rip why he couldn’t instantly cure them, he had tried to explain how the constantly evolving nature of viruses and the large number of varieties of rhinovirus made that difficult but they had simply given him sour looks and stomped off like it was his fault, all except Ray and Martin that is. Those two spent an hour arguing with him insisting they could come up with a cure and taxing Rip’s knowledge of immunology to its limits.

The only other major bout of illness that had to be dealt with, other than an unfortunate rash Sara managed to acquire somewhere, was the meat pie incident, involving some food acquired from an 18th century market stall, and the less said about that the better. There was nothing like trying to treat five cases of food poisoning while suffering from the same. Mick, to everyone’s annoyance, had proven immune.

Of course, there were colds and there were food poisonings and there was what happened to Snart...

Much to his chagrin, Rip didn’t notice when Leonard first became ill, but in his defense, Snart had proven very good at hiding such things, a skill he’d undoubtedly been forced to learn during his troubled childhood. He was also very good at hiding injuries. Fortunately, Rip had an unexpected ally in that regard: Mick.

Mick always knew when Leonard was hurt. Rip didn’t know how he knew, Mick just did. Whenever Snart was injured, Mick would give Rip a friendly, and occasionally painful, prod in the shoulder and jerk his head in Leonard’s direction letting Rip know it was time to order the man to medbay. When Snart was being particularly stubborn, Mick would drag Leonard to the medbay himself, shove him into a chair, and stand over him glaring, making sure Snart stayed while Rip treated his injuries.

Apparently, Leonard really hated people knowing he was hurt. He hated hospitals and doctors and having his injuries treated even more, and as Rip would find out, he hated being ill most of all.

It shouldn’t have been surprising then considering all of this that Snart had hidden the fact he was ill or that Mick, of course, had seen right through him and known from the start what was wrong, something Rip only realized in retrospect. It was Mick’s behaviour most of all which should have clued him in to the fact that something was off with Leonard. Snart’s behaviour barely changed at all. He was a little quieter and what he did say had a touch more bite to it, and his movements were perhaps a tad slower, but that was it. Mick, on the other hand, had suddenly become glued to Snart’s side keeping a close eye on him and acting like a silent sentinel. He didn’t say anything to Rip though. He must not have realized how serious it was but then none them did until it was almost too late.

Sara was the second to figure things out, and then Leonard suddenly had two silent sentinels who he put up with only very grudgingly. Sara had become almost as good as Mick at noticing when Leonard wasn’t alright and would fill in for Mick when he wasn’t around letting Rip know what was up. She, of course, had her own way of dealing with a stubborn Snart. It didn’t take much more than a glare from her to get Leonard to do what she wanted, all of his snarky protests met merely with an amused smirk.

It was almost two days though before Rip found out and it was only because Leonard threw up after a time jump that he finally realized what was going on. The more time you spent time travelling, the more your body grew used to it and the less side effects you experienced. Those days, unless it was a particularly long or particularly turbulent time jump, no one experienced much side effects at all. It had been months since anyone had been effected badly enough to spill their lunch on the floor, and since it had been a fairly smooth time jump, Rip knew the moment Snart bent over and began heaving that something was wrong. Illnesses like injuries tended to get aggravated by time travel.

As Sara rubbed Snart’s back, Rip scrutinized Leonard noting the pallor of his cheeks and the weariness in his eyes. There was also a deepening in the creases on his forehead and a tightness to his jaw as if he were in pain. “Why didn’t you say something?” he demanded.

Gathering himself, Snart sat up and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth managing to recover enough to send Rip a snide look. “Well, I’d have mentioned how lousy your flying is earlier but I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.”

Rip rolled his eyes. “You’re ill,” he said. “You should be in bed resting. I’d never have made the jump if I’d known you were...”

“I’m fine,” Snart snapped. 

Sara put a hand on his arm.

Taking a deep breath, Leonard reigned in his temper and said, “I just shouldn’t have had the tuna salad for lunch. That’s all.”

“Even if that’s the case,” said Rip, “I believe it would be in your best interest for you to go back to your quarters and take it easy.”

Snart scowled at him.

Unmoved, Rip crossed his arms over his chest. “If necessary I can order Mick and Sara to take you to bed,” he said. “When it comes to your health, they, at least, might listen to me.”

A spark seemed to return to Leonard’s eye and a smirk spread across his face. “Just to make sure I have this clear,” he said raising his eyebrows. “You’re going to order both Mick and Sara to take me to bed.”

There were several cleared throats and half-stifled snickers from the rest of the team.

Realizing what he’d said, Rip placed a hand across his face and groaned, “Oh, God. I didn’t mean...”

“That’s not usually my thing but hey, if a threesome’s what the doctor ordered...” Snart said with a shrug of his shoulders.

“Oh, God,” Rip said again. “Will someone just please take him to his quarters and make sure he gets some rest.”

Amid several more snickers, Sara took Leonard’s arm and after some persuasive glaring, managed to pull the reluctant Snart out of his chair and lead him off of the bridge towards his room.

Mick snorted. “About time you noticed,” he said before following Sara and Snart out.

Rip gave a weary sigh. This illness meant Mr. Snart would be even more difficult to deal with than usual over the next few days, not to mention the fact they would be one short for their current mission, or more likely two since Rip was pretty sure Leonard wasn’t going to stay in bed unless there was someone around to keep an eye on him. Oh, well, he mused, this too would pass eventually. With the proper care, Snart would recover fairly quickly.

Looking around, Rip noticed that while he’d been lost in thought the rest of the team had quietly snuck off the bridge leaving him alone to clean up the mess Snart had made.

Putting his face in his hands, Rip let out another groan.

Their mission was thankfully dealt with fairly quickly. They succeeded in fixing the time aberration completing what they needed to do before the sun even set that day, and they did it without Mr. Snart’s help though, Rip had to admit, his expertise would have come in useful on more than one occasion. 

With Leonard’s current condition in mind, Ray made chicken soup for dinner, or at least, tried to. Cooking wasn’t Ray’s strong point. Thankfully, Jax stepped in and helped him make it. Unfortunately, the bowl of soup sent to Snart’s quarters was returned untouched.

Rip wasn’t too concerned. Loss of appetite was a common enough symptom when feeling ill. Shut up in his quarters as Snart was, Rip hadn’t even seen him since the incident on the bridge, but with Sara and Mick looking after him, he was sure Leonard was in good hands, and they assured him that Snart was still healthy enough to be a pain in both their asses. So Rip went to bed peacefully that night with few worries on his mind.

And then he was woken up in the early hours of the morning by Mick literally dragging him out of bed. 

The man barged into Rip’s quarters, Rip had long since given up locking the door as all the members of his team had proven quite capable of finding a way past it, and grabbed Rip’s arm yanking him out from under the covers. Still half-asleep, Rip almost ended up on the floor, only just managing to stumble along as Mick pulled him out of the room and down the corridor.

“Mr. Rory!” Rip exclaimed cursing as he was dragged along. “What the hell is...”

But Mick’s only response was “Medbay now!”

Rip scowled and was about to utter a few more choice complaints about the rough treatment but all protests were forgotten when they reached their destination.

There were two people currently occupying the medbay. One was Sara. She stood leaning over the medical chair at the far end of the room. She wore a rumpled set of pyjamas. Long strands of blond hair had escaped her ponytail and her eyes were filled with a desperate worry. The source of her worry was obvious. Leonard sat unconscious on the chair, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his skin shiny with sweat, and his face pinched with pain. His complexion, which Rip had thought pale before, had reached a new deathly shade of pale except for his cheeks which were flushed a deep pink. 

Rip didn’t bother asking questions. He just rushed over to the screen beside Snart’s chair which was currently displaying Leonard’s vital signs. Gideon was registering his temperature as 105.7.

“He said he was fine,” said Rip, anxiety softening the sharpness of his words as he went through the results of the scans Gideon had done so far.

“He always says he’s fine,” said Mick with a snort. “He’s an idiot.”

“I don’t suppose he told you his symptoms,” said Rip. It was obviously some sort of infection but he was uncertain as to what kind.

“He didn’t say,” said Sara, tiredly brushing a strand a hair from her eyes. “But from what I saw, I’d guess headache, exhaustion, nausea, chills.”

“Dizziness,” Mick added. “He almost ended up flat on his face earlier.”

Those symptoms could mean a thousand different things, and unfortunately, Rip’s medical training had concentrated mainly on treating injuries, not diseases. Feeling out of his depths, Rip looked at the scans again: high temperature, swollen lymph nodes, white blood cell count low instead of high so most likely a viral infection rather than a bacterial one.

As if on cue, Gideon announced, “There are indications of a virus in Mr. Snart’s bloodstream.”

“Can you identify it?” asked Rip.

“Negative.”

Rip cursed. That meant there was no convenient antiviral Gideon could synthesize, no ready treatment plan they could follow. Trust a member of his team to catch some rare, dangerous viral strain no one had ever heard of. Rubbing his forehead, Rip gazed down at Leonard. The body already had an inbuilt system for handling diseases. If they just went with the old standards of giving him plenty of fluids and something to keep the fever from getting too high, Leonard’s body might be able to fight the virus off on its own. 

Eyes still closed in whatever restless sleep or state of unconscious he had fallen into, Leonard rolled his head to the side and let out a moan, a faint sound of pain and weariness he would have never let cross his lips if he’d been awake. 

Rip felt his heart constrict painfully in his chest. Glancing back at the screen displaying Snart’s vitals, he saw that Leonard’s temperature was now at 105.9.

“Gideon,” Rip called out. “Wake Dr. Palmer and Professor Stein. We’re going to need them.”

Once Ray and Martin had been woken up and appraised of the situation, they immediately set to work trying to develop a cure for Leonard. Neither one was a medical doctor but they both had backgrounds in biochemistry and hopefully that combined with some help from Gideon would be enough. Rip prayed it would be enough. They were currently stuck in the 12th century so there was no hope of any help from elsewhere. It would have been helpful to know where Snart had picked up the virus but they had been to several different time periods in the recent week, all of which occurred several centuries before humans even knew what a virus was. With very little to go on, the two scientists shut themselves in the lab analyzing the virus and trying to find its weaknesses while the others cared for Leonard and waited and waited and waited...

Hours passed, days passed and Leonard did not get better. He only grew worse, his body slowly weakening. He woke rarely and when he did, he was delirious, barely aware of what was going on around him. Those times were mostly spent trying to get him to drink down as much broth and juice as possible before he fell asleep once more. 

Sara wouldn’t leave his side. She sat on a stool beside his bed reading to him from one of the old, lengthy novels he seemed to enjoy or simply holding his hand. Mick spent a lot of time there also but could only stand seeing Leonard in such a state for so long before his restless temper forced him out of the room and sent him raging through the ship’s corridors.

Rip was in and out of the room routinely checking on Leonard and doing what he could to make him comfortable. His inability to do more frustrated him greatly and he found himself wishing for something much more substantial than a virus to fight. With the state Snart was in, they couldn’t travel in time so they were stuck in the same time period with no mission to go on, not that anyone really had the heart to go on a mission anyway. Rip spent his spare time trying to research possible time aberrations but found it hard to concentrate, his mind unwilling to focus on what he was reading.

It was because of this that late on the third day he found himself strolling down to the medbay for what was probably the twentieth time that day. Upon entering, he was surprised to find that on this occasion both chairs were occupied. Sara, after spending most of the past few nights awake, had finally succumbed to sleep. The chairs had been converted into beds and Sara lay on the one closest to the door, curled up awkwardly on her side so she faced Leonard. Of Mick there was no sign. He was probably demolishing the cargo bay again. Rip had assigned Jax to keep an eye on him. It gave the young man something to occupy himself with and kept Mick from doing too much harm to the ship or himself.

Rip pulled a blanket out of one of the cupboards, and then went over to Sara and gently lay it over her. The fact she didn’t so much as twitch when he did so only went to show how exhausted she had to be. Rip brushed a stray lock of hair from her face frowning when he noticed the dark circles under her eyes. Leonard wasn’t the only one getting worn down by this disease. It seemed like the whole team was suffering right along with him.

Speaking of Leonard... Rip turned to the medbay’s other occupant. There was no doubt Leonard Snart was suffering. The man had taken on a cadaverous appearance over the past few days. His face, which had retained its pallid colour, had grown thin and drawn highlighting the sharpness of his cheekbones. The shadows under his eyes were so dark they made his eyes look as if they’d sunken into his skull. 

Rip tucked the blanket covering Leonard more tightly around him, and then lay a hand on Snart’s forehead to check his temperature. The heat of his fever still raged. Gideon could measure Leonard’s temperature to a hundredth of a degree but for some reason, Rip still felt the need to check for himself and at the moment, he could tell the temperature was much too high. Gideon seemed to agree. The temperature she displayed was 106.5. They’d been fighting to keep it below 105 at the very least but even that fight they seemed to be losing.

“Gideon, give him another dose of the antipyretic,” said Rip, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb Sara.

Matching his volume, Gideon replied, “Mr. Snart has already reached the maximum recommended dosage.”

Rip gave a tired sigh and reached up to massage his temple. “Do it anyway,” he said. “If we don’t keep the fever down, liver damage will be the least of his worries.”

“Administering antipyretic,” the A.I. declared.

Rip watched the screen displaying Leonard’s vital signs. It took a little while but Snart’s temperature slowly began to go down. 106.4 106.3, 106.2... It got as low as 104.7 but then stopped and remained steady. Rip shook his head. Better but still nowhere close to good. The same could be said for the rest of his vitals and every day they grew worse. Leonard couldn’t last much longer at this rate. His body was simply wearing away.

Though his eyes remained closed, Leonard’s face scrunched up and he muttered something incoherent as he stirred restlessly on the bed.

“Shh,” said Rip, patting him gently on the shoulder. “You’re alright.” He let his hand rest there though it felt odd offering comfort when it would have been so quickly rejected if Snart had been in any other state of mind. 

It seemed to work though as Leonard quietened down and became still once more.

Rip took in a deep breath and slowly let it out. Leonard Snart had been a pain in his ass more times than he cared to remember, probably more so than anyone else on the team. He was impudent, belligerent, eternally aggravating, constantly challenged Rip’s authority, and yet... Rip remembered the dark hole that had been left behind when they’d thought they’d lost Leonard before. They couldn’t lose him again, not like this. 

Leaning forward, Rip whispered in Leonard’s ear. “I know you hate taking orders especially from me but just this once I would like you to listen, just this once I would like you to do what I say.” He took another deep breath and said simply and quietly, “Don’t die.” He gazed at Leonard searching, hoping for some sign that he’d been heard. “Don’t let a blasted virus take down the great Captain Cold. You’re time’s not up yet. We still need you here so don’t you dare leave us again. Do you hear me?” 

There was no response. Leonard lay there quiet and still, his body limp, his face lifeless.

Rip sighed and rubbed a hand over his eyes. Turning away, he grabbed the stool Sara had been using so much recently and sat down taking up a position between her and Leonard. The only noise in the room was the quiet sound of breathing as he settled in for a long vigil.

Several hours passed with little change in Leonard’s condition. Sara remained asleep and Rip fell into a pensive mood as he watched over the two of them. Eventually, his own exhaustion started to catch up with him and he would have most likely nodded off but someone suddenly burst into the room startling him awake once more. 

It was Ray and he was closely followed by Martin.

“Rip,” Ray declared waving a small vial of pale blue liquid at him, a large grin on his face. “We...”

Rip placed a finger to his lips and gazed pointedly at the still sleeping Sara.

Following his gaze, Ray winced. 

Fortunately, the exhausted Sara slept on.

Ray crept passed her coming over to stand beside Rip and continued speaking at a much lower volume. “Sorry we took so long. The virus had a rather complicated life cycle and we had difficulty finding a good target; then there were problems synthesizing the proper proteins and..."

"Dr. Palmer," said Rip, impatiently.

Ray got to the point. "I think we’ve found it.”

Rip’s eyes widened and he quickly rose from his chair. “An antiviral? You’ve found something that will kill the virus?” He stared at the vial in Ray’s hand as if it contained water from the fountain of youth itself.

“Well, technically it won’t kill the virus,” Martin explained. “But it should stop the virus from replicating and hopefully help Snart’s own immune cells target it directly.”

“Hopefully,” repeated Ray with a wan smile.

“Any hope is better than none,” said Rip who had little of his own left. He nodded towards Leonard. “Do it.”

Ray inserted the vial into an injector and shot the antiviral directly into Leonard’s neck. “It’s not an instant cure,” he admitted, “but if it works, it should give Leonard the fighting chance he needs.”

Rip gazed at the display of Leonard’s vitals knowing it was too soon to see one but hoping for some sort of sign the antiviral was working. “How long do you think it will take until we see a change?” he asked.

Ray and Martin looked at each other.

“A few hours maybe,” said Martin, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “I’m afraid I can’t be any more precise than that.”

Rip gazed at Martin. The professor looked haggard, Ray as well. They’d been putting all of their energy into finding a cure over the past few days. They probably hadn’t gotten anymore sleep than Sara had.

“Why don’t the two of you go get some rest,” he said. “I’ll keep an eye on Snart.”

“Are you sure?” asked Ray. “I mean... we can...” He interrupted himself with a yawn.

Rip gave him a weary smile. “Go. Sleep,” he said. “I’ll be fine.”

The two were obviously much too tired to argue and they slowly trudged off to their respective quarters leaving Rip alone with the sleeping Snart and Sara. He sat back down on the stool and sighed running a hand through his hair. Once more he was reduced to waiting. He hated waiting. He scrutinized Leonard carefully. Was his colour better than before? Rip shook his head convinced he was seeing things. 

Time passed slowly, minutes and hours blurring together, and soon Rip’s eyes began to droop, exhaustion drawing him into a light doze.

He was brought back to awareness by a voice, a weary croak that sounded as if its owner had been gargling gravel. It said, “You look horrible.”

“What...?” Rip blinked wondering when he had fallen asleep. His gaze automatically sought out their sick patient and he almost fell off his chair when he saw Leonard gazing back at him.

Leonard gave an amused huff, his lips twitching in the tiniest of smirks.

Rip’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Leonard. You’re...” he began and then what Snart had said registered as Rip’s brain finally caught up with him. He shook his head and pushed back the fringe of hair which had fallen over his forehead. “Look who’s talking,” he said with a wry smile.

Leonard might have looked awful but he looked so much better than before, his complexion less pale, his cheeks no longer flushed.

Rip got up and placed a palm against Leonard’s forehead as he’d done so often recently only belatedly realizing the gestured would probably not be a very welcome one now that Snart was rather more aware of what was going on. He quickly pulled his hand away. Thankfully all Snart did was give him an odd look. His temperature felt much better than before and Gideon confirmed it. The temperature she currently displayed was 99.1. The fever had finally broken. In fact, all of Leonard’s vital signs were vastly improved. The antiviral must have worked. 

A wave of relief washed over Rip.

“Uh...,” said Leonard, and then he coughed and cleared his throat. 

Rip quickly fetched him a glass of water and a straw.

Leonard’s hands shook a little but he managed to hold the glass long enough to take a few sips. Once he had done so, he said, “I don’t suppose you would mind telling me what the hell I’m doing here and why I feel like I’ve spent the past few days being pummeled by a ten ton gorilla.”

“You, Mr. Snart, have been rather ill,” said Rip, taking the water back from him.

Snart frowned. “Yeah, with a stupid cold.”

Rip shook his head. “That was much more than a cold. Whatever virus you had the misfortune of catching has had you stuck in here for over three days.”

Leonard rubbed a hand across his face and let out a groan. “You have got to be kidding me.” Looking past Rip, something caught his eye and his features became contorted with concern. “Sara, is she...?”

“She’s fine,” Rip reassured him. “She’s just catching up on the sleep she’s been missing out on recently. She’s been rather busy watching over you the past few days.”

“Oh,” said Leonard. He continued to stare at Sara, a softness to his eyes Rip had rarely seen.

Rip looked away trying to give the man some privacy. “So you don’t remember anything about what’s happened recently?” he asked.

Leonard sighed and shook his head. “Just some half remembered dreams,” he said. He frowned, and then turned to stare at Rip, the odd look returning to his face. 

“What?” said Rip.

Eyes still narrowed in that inscrutable stare, Leonard said, “I do have one vague memory. Something about somebody telling me not to die, that I was still needed.”

“Well,” said Rip. He cleared his throat and turned away pretending to study the medical diagnostic screen. “Well, your fever was rather high and you were more than a little delirious.”

“Right,” said Snart, slowly drawing out the word. “Probably just my overactive imagination.” Letting out a huff of air, he added, “So when do I get out of here?”

Rip rolled his eyes. Of course, Leonard’s immediate concern would be to get out of medbay as soon as possible. “You still need time to recover. Your body has been through a lot. It needs rest.”

“I can rest in my room,” Snart protested.

“We need to continue monitoring you to ensure the virus is completely out of your system so you don’t have a relapse,” Rip countered. “And you’ll probably need a few more shots of the antiviral Dr. Palmer and Professor Stein concocted to ensure that happens, and for that it’s best if you stay here”

“Fine,” Leonard grumbled.

Rip raised an eyebrow. Was Snart actually going to listen to him? Of all the miracles and wonders. “You should enjoy the peace and quiet while you can,” he said. “Knowing this team, it won’t last long.”

He was right.

Only moments later, Mick stomped into the room, his eyes widening when he saw Snart. “You’re awake!” he exclaimed.

That was perhaps not the best thing to do in the circumstances since it finally roused Sara from her deep slumber causing her to spring from her bed and draw a knife. 

Rip had no idea where Sara had been keeping that knife and he didn’t want to know.

“What’s going on?” she cried gazing around frantically.

“The idiot’s awake,” said Mick.

“What?” said Sara, and then her eyes fell on Snart. “Leonard...” she whispered in breathy relief.

Snart rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I’m awake,” he said. “What’s wrong with you two. You act like I was dying or something.”

Sara shook her head in exasperation but the effect was ruined by the huge grin that spread across her face. “You...” she began pointing a finger at him. Seeming to change her mind, she lashed out at Rip instead swatting him painfully on the arm.

“Ow,” Rip exclaimed as he rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was awake?” she demanded.

“He literally woke up five minutes ago,” said Rip raising his hands in the air in protest. “Besides you were asleep.”

“Aw, lay off the captain,” said Leonard. “He knows better than to wake a sleeping assassin.”

And now Leonard was coming to his defense. Rip’s eyebrows raised in disbelief. Clearly Snart’s brain had been damaged by the fever.

“But he’s going to be okay, right?” Sara asked Rip, some of the worry that had been weighing her down the past few days returning to eyes.

“He’s going to be fine,” Rip assured her. “Dr. Palmer and the professor came up with an antiviral and it’s helped break the fever but Mr. Snart still needs rest.”

Mick, who had been quiet throughout this, walked over to Leonard, put a hand on his shoulder, and leaned over him glaring.

“Hey, Mick,” said Leonard, giving him one of his best smirks, not the least bit intimidated by the other’s large, looming form.

“Don’t do that again,” Mick growled.

“Right,” said Snart with a nod. “In future, I’ll be sure to avoid any deadly viruses I happen to come across.”

“See that you do,” Mick said pointedly as he let go of Leonard’s shoulder and stood up straight once more. “If you don’t...”

“I know, I know,” said Leonard. “If I die, you’ll kill me.”

“Same goes for me,” Sara said with a wry smile. She leaned over and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. 

The hug surprised Leonard and his normal cool demeanour was briefly broken though he tried to hide it as he hugged her back.

A tired smile crept across Rip’s face as he watched them. Seeing the exhaustion still very much present on Leonard’s face, he said, “I think it’s time we let Mr. Snart rest. In fact, I think it’s time we all went to bed.”

“Great,” said Snart, his lips spreading in a wicked grin. “Then we can finally get started on that threesome.”

“What?” said Rip, and then he groaned casting his eyes to the ceiling. “Oh, God. I don’t... That’s really not...”

“Or we could have a foursome if the captain wants to join in,” Snart added.

“Oh, God,” Rip said once again, groaning even louder. He could feel his face flushing as both Sara and Mick grinned at him.

“The bed might be a bit small but I’m sure if we...”

“Oh, God,” Rip said for the third time hiding his face in his hands.

Well, he thought, at least everything was back to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next and lastly in the 'Accident Prone' series of fics is Rip but there will most likely be something else before that because I've already started writing a completely different fic which was inspired by something that happened in this one. It's called 'Midnight Visitors'.
> 
> PS Hope everyone's enjoying the return of Rip to Legends even if it's not quite Rip.
> 
> PPS If anyone wants to write something based on these fics, ie add a missing scene, elaborate on something I briefly mentioned, rewrite it from someone else's POV, etc., you have my permission. Just please give me credit, link it to this fic, and let me know.
> 
> PPPS I'm not much into romance or smut but I dare someone to write a fic where either Sara or Snart actually manages to convince a reluctant Rip to be part of a foursome.


	22. Midnight Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nowhere is safe for Rip, not even bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fighting the darkness with fluff and crack.

Everything was quiet and dark in the quarters of Captain Rip Hunter. The Captain himself was in bed lying on his back, one arm dangling over the side, the covers crumpled up around him. He lay there, sleeping peacefully, his chest rising and falling in an even rhythm, completely oblivious to the world.

A noise suddenly broke the silence, a faint whoosh as the doors to the room slid open. With it came the soft glow of the dimmed lights of the corridor outside spilling into the room. Silhouetted against the glow was a dark figure. They paused in the doorway as if checking for any signs of movement, and then they slowly crept inside, footsteps quieter than a cat’s. When the person reached the bed, they knelt down, leaned over the sleeping captain, and placed a knife against his throat; then they waited.

They did not have to wait long.

As if sensing the presence of another person in the room, Rip woke up. There was a moment of panic as he realized someone was leaning over him and another when he felt the blade of the knife pressed against his neck.

And then in the dim light he recognized the person’s soft features and curtain of blond hair.

Rip let out a tired groan. “Can’t this wait until morning?” he said wondering if he closed his eyes and pretended to fall back asleep, the person would go away. It was, he had to admit, unlikely.

“Like hell,” growled Sara Lance, leaning forward even more until her face was only inches from his. “Where are they?”

“Where are what?” said Rip. “How did you even get in here?” He’d made sure to lock the door. He always locked the door. He’d thought that would guarantee some peace and quiet for once, that it would keep the crew from bothering him while he slept. Apparently, he’d been wrong.

“Assassin,” replied Sara with a casual shrug of her shoulders. 

Rip rolled his eyes. “You know you can’t use that excuse for everything.”

Sara tilted her head to the side and gave him a look. Then she sighed. “Fine,” she said. “Leonard taught me a thing or two about picking locks.”

“Of course, he did.” Rip really needed to have a talk with Mr. Snart about going into places he wasn’t supposed to. He could always change the locking mechanisms on the ship, of course, but he had a feeling Snart would just take that as a challenge.

“Enough stalling,” said Sara, her expression growing fierce once more. “Where are they?”

“Where are what?” Rip cried in exasperation.

“My M&M’s!” Sara declared. “Somebody stole them.”

Rip wished he could say he was surprised by the fact he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by a knife to his throat for something so trivial but he wasn’t. Clearly, he’d been putting up with this team for much too long.

“Why on Earth would I have taken you M&M’s?” he said. “And could you please put that knife away?”

It wasn’t as if he was actually afraid she would use it. He trusted Sara, heart and soul. It was just the principle of the thing. Members of the crew shouldn’t go around threatening their captain, or their friends, with knives. Besides, waking up to a knife at his throat wasn’t good for his nerves. 

“Nah,” said Sara, her lips spreading in a wicked smirk. “I like it. It let’s people know I’m serious. Now, where are they?”

“You seriously think I stole your M&M’s?” said Rip, disbelievingly.

“It’s always the person you least expect,” replied Sara.

Rip groaned again. “Sometimes the person you least expect is the person you least expect because they have absolutely no reason to commit the crime!” he said. “Why don’t you ask Jax? This is probably his revenge for all the Kit Kats you and Mick have been stealing from him.”

“Serves him right for hogging them,” Sara grumbled. “Kit Kats are meant to be shared.” Her expression grew thoughtful and she pulled back taking the knife from Rip’s throat and tapping it against her chin. “You have a point though,” she said. “Jax was pretty pissed off when we grabbed that last one.” 

Sara’s grip tightened on her knife and the fierce determination returned to her features. Without another word, she leapt to her feet and stalked out of the room.

“No killing,” Rip called after her, and then after a moment’s thought, “Or maiming.” And after another, “Or bloodshed of any kind.”

But Sara was already gone.

Rip breathed a sigh of relief. “Gideon,” he called out. “Close the door and make sure it’s locked.”

“Yes, Captain,” the A.I. replied.

The door swooshed shut sinking the room back into darkness.

Rip pulled the covers around him, curled up on his side, and after muttering a few curses about temperamental teammates, fell back asleep.

Soon, he began to dream...

For some reason, the team had adopted a trio of lobsters, large blue lobsters, and much to Rip’s annoyance brought them onboard the ship to keep as pets. The lobsters immediately began to run amok, destroying everything they could get their claws on. They had just stolen Rip’s pocket watch and dived into a large pool of green jello which had mysteriously appeared in the library when the door to his quarters slid open once more. 

This time it was followed by the lights in the room coming on at full brightness and a voice calling out, “Captain, I must speak to you.”

Disoriented, Rip immediately sat up squinting in the sudden light. Turning towards the doorway, he saw Martin Stein standing there, an earnest expression on his face. For a second, he thought the professor had come to complain about the lobsters before he remembered that had just been a dream.

“What?” said Rip dazedly, shaking his head and blinking several times. “What’s wrong?” Visions of time pirate attacks, temporal storms, and injured crew members filled his mind.

“Wrong? Oh, nothing’s wrong,” said Martin. “In fact,” he added giving a wide grin, “something may very much be right.”

“What?” Rip said again, gazing at him in confusion. Not time pirates then, he thought. “How did you get in here? I told Gideon to lock the door.”

“Oh, Sara let me in,” said Martin with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I think I’ve finally done it. I’ve actually managed to crack it, or at least, part of it. I think. Certainly this discovery will revolutionize modern thinking and help lead others in the right direction. It might even lead them to the final big breakthrough.”

Rip just stared at him, the lines on his forehead deepening. “Sorry, what are you talking about?” He wasn’t sure if he wasn’t fully awake yet or if he’d missed something or if Martin had simply gone insane but what the professor was saying wasn’t making the slightest bit of sense to him.

Martin sat down on the foot of Rip’s bed. “Do you remember how I’ve been doing some work on the unified field theory in my spare time?”

Rip slowly nodded as the memory came back to him. “You may have mentioned it. Something about expanding on Hawking’s old work.”

“Exactly!” Martin exclaimed with much more enthusiasm than Rip could really handle at that time of night. “He may no longer believe in a theory of everything but I do, and I’ve found it. Well, not it really but I may have finally found a way to truly combine quantum mechanics and general relativity. It might even finally bring gravity into the equation. There are just a few more kinks I need to work out first. You see...” He then proceeded to begin a long complicated explanation that probably only the top physicists in the world would have been able to understand.

“Professor, this really isn’t...” Rip began but Martin didn’t seem to hear him.

Completely carried away now, the professor had gotten to his feet and was pacing back and forth across Rip’s room as he continued what was proving to be a lengthy lecture on theoretical physics.

“...with the strong and electroweak interactions but the thing about loop quantum gravity is...”

“Martin,” Rip tried again. “I don’t think...” but he didn’t have anymore success than the last time.

Martin continued his enthusiastic explanation occasionally making grand gestures to accentuate certain points. Rip had a feeling that if the professor had had a marker on him, he would have been scribbling equations all over the walls.

“...accounted for by the way spacetime folds, and that’s only the start. Admittedly, there’s still the slight problem of...”

Rip pinched the bridge of his nose. He did actually have a fairly good understanding of physics as well as complex math, it was deemed necessary back at the academy, but he’d studied temporal mechanics not theoretical particle physics, and he really didn’t have the brain power to try to understand it at whatever godawful hour of the night this happened to be.

His frustration growing, Rip was about to call out to Martin again, this time at a much louder volume, when the professor suddenly stopped becoming still and silent in the middle of the room. 

Martin just stood there, frozen; then suddenly, he exclaimed, “Of course!” and slapped a hand against his forehead. “That’s it! I’ll have to make sure it takes into account... and there’ll be the slight issue of... but if I include.... Yes, that just might work.” He turned back to Rip. “Thank you, Captain. You’ve been a great help.” And then he strolled out of the room.

Rip stared after him feeling just as clueless as when Martin had walked in. “Um, you’re welcome?” 

Lying back down, Rip placed an arm across his face. “Gideon,” he called out.

The A.I. obligingly shut the door Martin had left open and turned off the lights.

Rip rolled over and settled back down with a sigh wondering if he should put some sort of deadbolt on his door. Slowly, he began to drift back into sleep.

It did not last long.

When the shaking first started, Rip feared something had happened to the ship. It took a moment to realize that it wasn’t the ship shaking but him. Someone had grabbed ahold of his shoulder and was shaking it rather vigorously. There was also someone talking very close to his ear, repeating the same thing over and over again at quite an impressive speed.

“Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip, Rip...”

Rip slowly opened his eyes.

Ray Palmer was leaning over him, a large grin on his face.

“Oh, God,” said Rip. Didn’t anyone on this team sleep? 

“Rip, you’re awake!” Ray declared, his grin growing wider.

“Well, I am now,” Rip grumbled as he pushed himself up on his elbows. “How do you people keep getting in here? Please don’t tell me it was Sara again.”

“What?” said Ray, frowning. “Oh, no. Gideon let me in.”

Rip raised his eyebrows. “Gideon?” he said in disbelief.

“Yeah,” said Ray. “I just told her it was an emergency.”

“Is it an emergency?” Rip asked rubbing his forehead in anticipation of a headache he knew was on its way.

“No, no emergency,” Ray replied. “I just needed to ask you something and that seemed like the easiest way to get in here.”

“Right,” said Rip. He wondered if it was too late to maroon the team in the Stone Age and continue the mission on his own. “So, what exactly did you have such a pressing need to ask me that you decided to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Ray’s eyes widened. “It’s the middle of the night?”

Rip gave him an incredulous look. “Yes. Why the hell did you think I was in bed?”

“I just thought you were having a nap,” said Ray. “I guess I was working on my suit for longer than I thought. Anyway, I wanted to see if there was anything you needed help with or needed getting done or if there was anything that needed fixing or cleaning. I mean a ship this size there’s always a lot of cleaning, right, and I know Jax does most of the fixing these days but I can help. Or hey, what about research? Is there an aberration that needs researching?”

Rip narrowed his eyes at Ray. The man’s current buoyant cheerfulness and enthusiastic babbling seemed over the top even for him. Taking a closer look, Rip suddenly noticed how jittery Ray seemed to be. His heels were bouncing up and down off the floor and his hands were drumming a complicated beat against his thighs.

“Please tell me haven’t been drinking coffee again,” Rip said with a sigh.

Ray’s eyes immediately turned shifty. “Maybe?”

Rip shook his head in exasperation. “Mr. Palmer, we’ve talked about this.”

“It was only a couple cups,” Ray protested. “Small cups even, miniscule.”

“A couple cups of what?” asked Rip, suspiciously.

“Uh...” Ray cleared his throat before finally admitting, “A couple cups of Snart’s special brew.”

“A couple cups of Snart’s special brew,” Rip repeated in disbelief. “You mean Snart’s extremely condensed, quadruple espresso, the one Sara nicknamed the Black Death?”

Ray grimaced sheepishly. “Uh, yeah.”

Rip groaned and dragged a hand across his face. 

“In retrospect,” said Ray, cocking his head to the side thoughtfully, “that’s probably why I have so much energy and feel this big need to get stuff done. I’ve already cleaned my quarters and done all the maintenance on the Atom Suit twice so if you have any suggestions...” He gazed at Rip hopefully.

Rip took a deep breath. “Alright,” he said. “If you really want to help, here’s what you can do: go to the galley and clean inside all the cupboards, make sure you get every last crumb and throw out any food that might have gone off; then water the plants, sweep and mop all the floors in the galley as well as the rest of the ship, dust everything in my study and the library, make sure all the books in the library are in their proper order, reorganize the things in the cargo bay, give the fabricator a tune up, fix the broken restraint on the chair at the back far left on the bridge, and if you still have energy, run through the corridors a few dozen times.”

Grinning eagerly, Ray nod. “Got it,” he said and turned to leave, but then he immediately turned back, a frown on his face. “Wait. Why do you need me to run through the corridors?”

“Gideon likes it,” said Rip. “It helps keep her entertained.”

“It does?” said Ray in disbelief.

“It does,” replied Gideon.

“Oh,” Ray said, and with a somewhat puzzled expression, finally left the room.

Without Rip having to ask, Gideon shut the door once more and turned off the lights, but Rip didn’t lie back down and close his eyes seeking a return to sleep. Instead, he stayed in the same position staring at the gray, metal door as if daring it to open again. 

Time passed. Everything was silent and still. The door remained closed.

Finally, Rip shook his head and settled down. He was being ridiculous. After all, what were the chances of his slumber being disturbed for a fourth time that night.

Sleep beckoned to him once more and he drifted back into its embrace.

It seemed as if Rip had only just closed his eyes when he was shaken awake again. This time by someone’s heavy boot kicking the bed beneath him.

Rip opened his eyes praying that this time it would finally be morning, or even perversely that this time there might actually be some sort of emergency. What he wouldn’t give for a nice simple time pirate attack. 

But he knew that wasn’t the case when the first thing he saw was Mick Rory standing over him, a half-eaten sandwich in one hand.

Rip uttered a sound that was half groan, half sob, and put his hands over his face.

“We’re out of mayonnaise,” Mick declared.

Rip peeked out from beneath his hands. “Seriously? You woke me up just to tell me we’re out of mayonnaise?”

Mick shrugged. “If I waited ‘til morning, I might forget.” 

“Can’t you just use the food fabricator?” asked Rip.

“It’s not the same,” replied Mick. “I need the good stuff.” He took a bite of his sandwich as if to demonstrate.

“Fine!” Rip declared, flinging his hands into the air as his voice jumped up to a near hysterical pitch. “We’ll get you more of your bloody mayonnaise. Now if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like to get some actual sleep tonight!”

Mick nodded in satisfaction, and then his goal apparently accomplished, turned and left through the previously locked door. Rip didn’t need to ask how Mick had gotten past the lock. Mick was just as capable of bypassing a lock as Snart. He just needed sufficient motivation of which the desire for more mayonnaise was apparently one of them.

As Gideon once more closed the door, Rip turned over onto his stomach and placed his pillow over his head. That was it. From now on, he was welding his door shut every night before he went to bed. He didn’t care how unpractical that was or the fact he’d have to unweld himself out every morning. If that’s what it took to keep the crew out, that’s what he was going to do.

He didn’t even get the chance to fall asleep again before the next visitor arrived. This one at least had the decency to knock before bypassing the lock and opening the door. 

“Rip, you awake?” Jefferson ‘Jax’ Jackson called out from the doorway.

“No,” Rip growled out from beneath his pillow.

“Um...” Jax said hesitantly. “Because if you are awake, there’s something I was hoping I could talk to you about.”

Taking the pillow from his head, Rip slammed it against the wall as he sat up. “Right, of course,” he fumed, the hysterical edge entering his voice once more. “Because why the hell would I be sleeping at this time of night? I must just be lying here in bed in my nightclothes idly passing the time as I wait for people to come visit me and make ridiculous demands. After all, who needs sleep anyway? The rest of the team certainly doesn’t.”

Jax took a step back, hands raised in surrender, a somewhat disconcerted look on his face as if he was starting to question the captain’s sanity. “Ok, obviously, this is a bad time.”

Immediately hit with a stab of guilt, Rip winced. “No, no, wait,” he said in a much calmer tone. He took a deep breath. He might be having a bad night but Jax wasn’t responsible. Jax didn’t deserve his wrath. “I apologize. I’ve had a lot of visitors tonight and I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep, so I’m afraid I’m a bit...”

“Cranky?” suggested Jax with an amused smile.

Rip rolled his eyes. “Yes, fine, cranky,” he conceded. 

“Well, I can come back later,” said Jax. “I mean I probably should have waited for morning anyway. I just...” He trailed off hesitating a moment and then shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He turned to leave.

“Jax, wait,” Rip called after him. He could see the troubled look in Jax’s eyes. Something was wrong and now that Rip knew he had no intention of letting him run off.

Jax turned back around gazing at him uncertainly.

"Gideon, lights please," Rip called out. As the room brightened, he swung his legs over so he was sitting on the edge of the bed and ran a hand through his sleep-dishevelled hair. “Listen, I know I can be a bit bad tempered occasionally.”

“Just occasionally?” said Jax, raising his eyebrows.

Ignoring the remark, Rip continued, “But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t feel free to talk to me about anything at anytime even if I am, as you say, cranky.”

Jax waved a hand in the air. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Right,” said Rip in a sarcastic tone. “You just woke me up in the middle of the night for no reason at all. Some of the other members of our team might be inclined to do that but I have a feeling there’s more than nothing on your mind. Sit. Talk.” He gestured to the other end of the bed.

After another brief hesitation, Jax came over and sat down.

“So what’s wrong?” Rip asked.

“I was just hoping...” Jax began. He stopped and rubbed his hands nervously against his thighs. “You know how Gideon’s got that lock on her systems," he continued. "The one which prevents her from giving us any information about our own futures.”

“Yes,” Rip said slowly. “It’s standard for all time ship AIs to have such a lock. Knowing your future can be dangerous. Gideon can’t even tell me my own.”

Jax cleared his throat. “Well... I was kind of hoping you could bypass it.”

Rip sighed. The life of a time traveller was inevitably filled with temptations but he hadn’t expected Jax of all people to be swayed by them. “Theoretically, yes, but like I said knowing your future is dangerous. It has a tendency to make people do stupid things, stupid things which can have catastrophic effects on the timeline.”

“But I don’t want to look up my own future,” Jax protested. “Just the one of someone close to me.”

“Whose?” Rip asked.

Jax looked at the floor. “My Mom’s,” he replied.

Rip’s forehead furrowed. “You think something’s going to happen to her?” 

“I just...” Jax rubbed a hand across the short, bristly hair on his scalp. “I worry. I know it’s stupid but she’s my Mom.”

Rip’s lips twisted in a sad smile. “You’re supposed to worry about family,” he said. “That’s what they’re there for.”

Jax gave a small smile but it was fleeting and the troubled look soon returned. “The thing is,” he began, “when I was growing up, it was just the two of us and we looked after each other. She did so much for me, sacrificed so much for me, working so hard so I could have a good home and everything. I was going to make it up to her. I was going to get that football scholarship, go to college, and get a great job so I could earn all this money and buy a big fancy house for her to retire in. Then I hurt my knee and that all fell apart, but I thought I could still be there for her, help her out and stuff, and look at me. Here I am playing superhero, flying through history on a time ship while she’s left on her own back in 2016.”

Suddenly, Jax's unexpected request made a lot more sense. Rip gazed at him in sympathy. “Do you regret coming with us?” he asked.

“No,” Jax replied, firmly. “This... This is more than I ever dreamed of. I have a purpose. I’m doing good stuff, stuff I enjoy. I’m helping people and I’m doing it with a team I care about. This is where I want to be but...” Jax took a deep breath. “...sometimes I think I’m being selfish, thinking only about what I want and not about what my Mom wants, what my Mom needs. Family’s important, right?”

“It is,” said Rip. “But she’s your mother and I’m pretty sure if you ask her, she’ll tell you that what she wants more than anything is for you to be happy, for you to be doing exactly what you’re doing right now.”

“You really think so?” said Jax, skeptical but with a hint of hope in his voice.

Rip turned away, his eyes growing distant. “I can assure you that is the one thing any good parents wants,” he said quietly.

This time it was Jax's turn to send a sympathetic look Rip's way. “Yeah, well, I guess,” he said. “Doesn’t stop me worrying though.”

“Jax” said Rip, turning back to him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “I might not know your mother but if she’s anything like you, and for her to have brought up someone so intelligent and caring she must be, then I’m pretty sure she can take care of herself.”

A grin slowly spread across Jax’s face. “She is pretty awesome.”

Rip smiled back. “Of course, just because you know your family can take care of themselves doesn’t mean you automatically stop worrying nor does it mean you shouldn’t drop in every now and again to remind them how much you love them.”

Jax’s eyes lit up and his grin grew wider. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Well,” said Rip, “apparently we need to stop somewhere to pick up more mayonnaise.” He grimaced as something else occurred to him. “And probably some M&M’s too, so why not Central City, 2016.”

“Thanks, man,” said Jax. “That’ll be...”

Jax stopped and both men turned to the open door as the sound of running footsteps accompanied by a loud tuneless whistle could be heard growing closer. 

Ray appeared. He then immediately disappeared as he jogged past the doorway whistling contentedly.

Jax’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Uh... What’s Ray doing?” 

The corner of Rip’s lips twitched. “Keeping Gideon happy.”

The look Jax gave him said he was starting to question Rip’s sanity once again.

“I’d avoid Dr. Palmer at the moment,” Rip added. “He’s been at the caffeine again. It’s probably best if you avoid Sara and Professor Stein too. In fact, if I were you, I’d avoid everyone and barricade myself in my room until morning comes.”

Jax chuckled. “Is that what you’re going to do?”

“I would but apparently every once in awhile my crew actually needs me for something important,” said Rip gazing meaningfully at Jax.

“A captain’s work is never done?” said Jax.

“Unfortunately,” agreed Rip. He let out a large yawn and rubbed his eyes.

“Maybe you should try and get some sleep,” Jax suggested teasingly as he got to his feet. “You look like you could use it.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” Rip grumbled.

Jax just grinned back at him. “Night, Rip,” he said and headed out the door.

“Goodnight, Mr. Jackson,” Rip replied as he gratefully lay back down in the bed and pulled the covers over him. “Goodnight, Gideon,” he added quietly, already half-asleep.

“Goodnight, Captain,” said the A.I., closing the door and turning off the lights.

Exhausted and worn out, Rip soon fell into a deep slumber.

A few minutes later the door opened once more and another dark figure crept into the dimly lit room holding a small package cradled in one of their hands. The figure silently walked over to the sleeping captain and without waking him, knelt down and pulled back the covers. He then proceeded to carefully place the package he carried into Rip’s arms. The package crinkled slightly. On it were displayed several bright colours against a dark brown background and from it came the sweet smell of milk chocolate.

The figure pulled the covers back over Rip and gently tucked him in.

“Sweet dreams, Rip,” Leonard Snart whispered giving him a wicked smirk before silently creeping back out of the room.

Completely oblivious, the captain peacefully slept on, content in his well-deserved rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally joined tumblr. Why? I don't know. Okay, it's mostly to hang out with fellow Rip fans. Let's see how this goes. For those who might be interested in following, I'm here: darkestsight.tumblr.com


	23. Just A Little Accident Prone: Rip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mick was right. They're all idiots, complete and utter idiots, but they're lovable idiots.
> 
> Warning: There is a fair amount of blood in this one so avoid if necessary. Also though I've done some research and tried my best to get things right, I do not guarantee medical accuracy.

Rip himself was not accident prone. He wasn’t despite what certain members of the team might say. He did occasionally get injured, of course. It was a hazard of the job. They led dangerous lives after all. Any injuries acquired outside of missions though were entirely the fault of the insane antics of his trouble-causing teammates, such as the time Sara dragged him into the middle of a particularly nasty bar fight or the time Jax had left his tools out for Rip to trip over or the time Martin tried to experiment with unstable temporal energy inside Rip’s study or the time Snart decided to challenge Rip’s pickpocketing skills by stealing various items from people and planting them on him or the time Mick accidentally set his coat on fire or the time Ray almost buried him under a mountain of canned pasta to name but a few.

Thankfully, on those rare occasions Rip was injured, he was able to treat his own injuries. He’d spent thirteen years on his own flying the Waverider throughout the timeline on all sorts of dangerous missions so he was perfectly capable of tending to his own medical needs.

At least, he usually was...

For a group of people who were running for their lives, the general mood of the team was surprisingly jovial as they raced back the Waverider. There were smiles on several faces and bursts of laughter were emitted by more than one as they hurried towards the ship. 

“I don’t believe it,” said Ray, only just managing to get the words out between gasps for air as he stumbled up the ramp into the cargo bay and skidded to a halt. “Those were actual... I mean... Those were real...” He waved his hand in the direction he’d just come.

Jax half-ran, half-limped in behind him. “I know, man,” he said breathlessly, a large grin on his face despite the return of the old ache in his knee. “How awesome was that?”

“One of these days... you are going to have to... explain to me... your definition of awesome,” said Martin, panting fairly heavily as he joined them. “I sincerely doubt it matches my own.”

“Come on you can’t tell me you didn’t think that was cool?” said Ray gazing at him incredulously.

“How is fighting for our lives against a band of brigands, without might I add the aid of our powers or future tech, cool?” Martin demanded.

“They were pirates,” Jax pointed out as if that was answer enough.

“We fight pirates all the time,” Martin countered.

“But those are time pirates,” said Ray. “These were pirate pirates, real swashbuckling, jolly roger, yo ho ho and a bottle of rum pirates.”

Jax nodded in enthusiastic agreement while Martin rolled his eyes.

“I still don’t see why we had to run,” Mick declared sullenly as he stomped into the ship, a bloody cutlass still clenched in one hand. “I was having fun.”

A somewhat breathless but otherwise unperturbed Snart came up behind him. “I noticed,” he said. “I think it was the giant grin on your face as you cut down everyone in your path that gave it away.”

“Do you think it’s too late to go back?” asked Mick, casting a longing look back the way they’d come.

“If you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Rory,” said Rip as he and Sara raced up the ramp, both breathing heavily and with swords drawn, “when those reinforcements arrived, we were outnumbered five to one.”

“So?” said Mick.

Rip gave him an incredulous look. “As much as I’d like to see you try to take on a hoard of angry pirates, I think it would be best if we all got away with our lives intact. Speaking of which...” He hit his palm against the switch beside the door. 

The ramp retracted and the cargo bay doors shut just as the enraged cries of the frenzied hoard reached their ears.

Mick let out a disappointed huff.

“Gideon, if you wouldn’t mind jumping us into the temporal zone,” Rip called out.

The ship jolted slightly as it took off and Rip braced himself against the recently closed doors to steady himself. His breathing was starting to even out but his heart was still racing from the recent fight with the pirates and the subsequent run to the ship. Looking around the cargo bay, he double checked that everyone was there and uninjured. After everything they’d just been through, their 18th century sailor costumes were looking somewhat dishevelled, but thankfully, none of the team appeared to be hurt. 

Martin, who had taken a seat on a large crate, seemed to be a little winded but was otherwise alright. Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory, the former currently giving the latter a consoling pat on the back, were a bit blood spattered but Rip was pretty sure none of the blood was theirs. There was no doubt that Jax and Ray were alright. Their faces were still covered with large grins as if they’d just spent the day at an amusement park instead of fighting for their lives.

Rip shook his head in disbelief.

Sara, her own period costume showing more than a few recently acquired bloodstains, came over and placed a hand on his shoulder. There was a mischievous look on her face, the kind he’d learned to dread. “I noticed they weren’t the only ones enjoying themselves out there,” she said gazing at him meaningfully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rip said quickly, perhaps a tad too quickly.

Sara’s lips spread into an evil smirk. “Are you telling me that wasn’t a glint I saw in your eyes as you took on that pirate captain?”

Rip felt his cheeks start to flush. “I happen to enjoy a good fencing match,” he said. “That’s all.”

“Uh huh,” said Sara, giving him a knowing nod.

“That’s all,” he reiterated. “Unlike some members of our team I have no love for bloodthirsty pirates.”

“Oh!” Ray declared suddenly. “You know I swear I saw a pirate that looked exactly like Johnny Depp.”

“Aw, man,” said Jax. “I can’t believe I missed that.”

Rip jerked his head towards Jax and Ray as if to say ‘you see what I mean.’

However, the smile on Sara’s face told him he wasn’t getting off that easily.

“Yes, well, what I don’t understand,” Rip said in an effort to change the subject, “is why the pirates were so intent on pursuing us.”

“They did seem pretty pissed off,” Jax agreed.

“Well,” said Snart, emphasizing his lazy drawl as he drew out the word. “This might have had something to do with it.” And reaching into his coat, he pulled out a length of fabric. 

The rest of the team stared in disbelief. 

What Snart held in his hands was a simple rectangle of cloth, ragged and faded, but what drew everyone’s eye to it was the familiar image it contained, a white skull and crossbones against black.

“You stole their flag?” Martin exclaimed. “How did you even...?”

“That’s so cool,” said Ray, eyes gleaming, and then he quickly sobered and said, “I mean stealing bad.”

“That’s not the only thing we stole,” said Mick, taking out an amber bottle from inside his coat. “Authentic pirate grog,” he said as he admired the bottle. He pulled out the cork with his teeth and spat it onto the floor; then took a large swig. He grimaced.

“Good stuff, Mick?” asked Sara with an amused smile.

“Awful,” Mick replied and took another swig.

Rip couldn’t believe it. He glared at two former criminals, eyes jumping furiously from one to the other. They had done it again, gone out of their way to pull off some pointless bit of petty larceny in the middle of a mission, and in doing so, needlessly endangered the mission, the timeline, and the lives of the team. It was like they couldn’t help themselves. Just once couldn’t they behave, just once?

“You...” he growled pointing at them with the sword still held in his hand.

The team gazed at him expectantly, some grimacing, others rolling their eyes at the prospect of another lecture.

But then Rip deflated. His shoulders slumped and he let out a deep sigh, the sword falling back to his side. He probably should give Snart and Rory a good telling off but he really wasn’t in the mood. He felt as worn and ragged as the purloined flag. The adrenaline from the fight was starting to wear off and he just wanted to collapse somewhere preferably with a good drink, something that wasn’t Mick’s appropriated pirate grog. 

“Just don’t do it again,” he said wearily with a wave of his hand.

The team stared at him in astonishment.

“That’s it?” said Snart, incredulously, eyebrow raised. “I pull off what is arguably the most audacious heist of my career right under your nose, bring the wrath of a whole horde of pirates down on us, and all I get is a ‘don’t do it again’?”

Jax snorted. “I got a bigger lecture the last time I broke the no powers rule.”

“I got a bigger lecture the last time I forgot to do the dishes,” said Ray. “What happened to our post-mission chewing out? Come on. It’s practically traditional.”

“Yeah,” said Mick. “You’re supposed to be pissed off. That’s half the fun.”

Rip cast his eyes to the ceiling. There was simply no pleasing some people. “The mission was fine,” he said, “not great but fine. We fixed the aberration and we survived, obviously. We even did it without resorting to using our powers and future tech for once so congratulations. You did good.”

Ray and Jax turned to each other, shrugged, and then high-fived.

“As much as I appreciate the compliment,” said Martin, “I must agree with the others. This does seem somewhat out of character for you especially considering Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory’s recent escapade.” His eye narrowed as he looked Rip over. “Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” Rip insisted with exasperation. “I don’t lecture that much, do I?”

“Well...” Martin said and self-consciously cleared his throat.

“I wouldn’t say it was that much,” said Ray, shifting his weight awkwardly from foot to foot. 

“Yeah, not exactly,” Jax chimed in.

In contrast, Snart gave a simple “Yes,” and Mick just nodded.

Rip held up a hand. “Alright,” he said. “Perhaps I have been overdoing it a bit.”

“A bit?” said Mick, raising his eyebrows.

Rip groaned and ran a hand through his hair.

“We all know you do it with love,” said Sara, patting him on the shoulder. Tilting her head to the side, she scrutinized him with an unnervingly penetrating look. “You’re sure you’re alright though?”

“I’m just tired,” said Rip, massaging his temple as he felt a familiar headache starting to grow there. “The mission was a bit more arduous than I expected, but it’s over and done with, and right now I’m rather more concerned with the future than the past.”

“The future?” questioned Ray, eyebrows knitting together in a frown.

“Yes,” Rip replied. “For instance, I would like to know which one of you intends to clean up this mess.”

The team stared at Rip in confusion. He pointed down. As their eyes followed his finger, they soon saw what he was talking about. It seemed that when they’d been running from the pirates, they’d been running through a fair amount of dirt and muck, and it now covered the cargo bay floor.

There was a moment of silence as the Legends gazed from the floor to each other. Then a chorused cry of “Not it!” erupted and they all quickly made for the exits.

“Wait,” Rip called out. “Could you at least...” But they were already gone.

Why had he thought working with a team would be a good idea, Rip wondered for the millionth time. Gazing down at the muddy floor, he gave a long-suffering sigh. All he wanted to do was collapse and have a drink. He turned his gaze on himself, taking in his own grubby state, and reconsidered. In light of their recent adventure, he probably needed to get out of the period clothing and have a shower first. Then he could collapse and have a drink. But if he left the mud on the floor to dry into a caked in mass, it would be twice as hard to clean up. He sighed again.

Spotting the cork Mick had carelessly spat onto the floor, Rip put his sword down on a nearby crate and bent to pick it up. 

He was barely halfway down when a sharp burst of pain lanced through him. Grimacing, he staggered back clutching his left side. It felt like it was on fire. His first thought was that he must have torn a muscle during the fight, but then he realized that his side wasn’t just burning with pain. It was also damp.

Removing his hands away from his side, Rip stared at his fingers in shock. Fresh blood had stained them a vivid red.

“What the hell?”

Then he remembered, the duel with the pirate captain, the sudden sweeping slash to his side which he’d thought had been a near miss. Based on the evidence before him, it had apparently been more of a direct hit. He could see the long, horizontal cut in the material of his coat where the sword had gone through.

How could he have not noticed? There hadn’t been any pain until this moment but he supposed that could be chocked up to the wonders of adrenaline. The wound itself would have been half-obscured by his left arm, the blood, which he could now see staining his side, by the dark colour of his coat, but still, he should have noticed. He supposed he had been a little too distracted by the hoard of angry pirates chasing after them.

Scowling, Rip examined the wound with more annoyance than concern. This meant his chance for a rest and a peaceful drink was to be delayed even longer. First he would have to go to the medbay, then he needed to have a shower and change, then he had to clean the damn floor, and only then would he finally be able to collapse into a chair in his study with a glass from that old bottle of scotch he had carefully hidden away, out of reach of the team’s sticky fingers.

Trying to get a better look at what the pirate’s sword had done to him, Rip pushed back his coat. The blood stood out much more vividly on the white shirt he wore beneath and it had plastered the fabric to his skin. Yanking at the shirt, he pulled it aside so he could see how large the wound was. 

This, unfortunately, turned out to be a really, really bad idea. The gash on his side was rather deeper than he’d assumed and apparently the way the blood had stuck the shirt to the laceration had helped create a sort of bandaid keeping it at least partially closed. Now that he had torn the fabric aside, it immediately began bleeding much more profusely.

“Bloody hell,” Rip cursed not missing the irony of his words. He quickly pressed both hands to his side as he felt the blood start to trail down his leg.

“Gideon, get medbay ready,” he called out to the A.I.

“I have already done so,” Gideon replied.

Rip gave a small smile. Of course, she had.

He began slowly making his way to the mebay, still clutching his side, grimacing as each step tugged at it painfully. The walk took a lot more effort than it should have. Halfway there he was forced to remove one hand from the wound so he could use the wall for support. By the time he'd reached his destination, his heart was pounding again, his breathing was fairly heavy, and he was starting to feel a bit faint. He staggered towards the chair at the back of the room and collapsed into it trying and failing to not yank anymore on the wound. 

It felt wonderful to be off his feet and he breathed a sigh of relief. Closing his eyes, he let himself sink back into the chair.

“Captain,” said Gideon. “Please attach the medical infusion device.”

Rip reluctantly opened his eyes as he realized he’d forgotten one rather crucial step. The metal cuff attached to the long tube that would allow Gideon to provide him with her wonderful cocktail of painkillers and antibiotics. It was a necessary part of the procedure. Gideon couldn’t begin her ministrations without it, and at the rate he was going, he might even need a little top up in the blood department from her as well and that was the only way she could provide it.

The cuff was hanging off the arm of the chair. He had to stop putting pressure on his side to grab it. Unfortunately, when he tried to do so, he found his hands clumsy and the fact they were slick with blood didn’t help matters. He let out a loud curse as the cuff slipped through his fingers and fell to the floor.

He leaned over the side of the chair. It wasn’t hard to spot where the cuff had fallen. Rip glared down at it.

“Captain. You need to...” Gideon began.

“I know. I know,” he replied wearily.

Right arm wrapped around him, hand holding tightly against the gash on his side, Rip slowly began to get up. This proved a lot harder and a lot more painful than sitting down had been. He let out a groan as he finally got back to his feet. He just stood there a moment concentrating on his breathing as he waited for the pain to die back down. Once it had, he searched for the cuff once more and grimaced when he spotted it. 

The floor had never seemed so far away.

Slowly, still holding his side, he bent over reaching for the cuff, and then lurched forward almost diving head first onto the floor as a wave of dizziness swept through him. His arms flailed and he was, thankfully, able to grab ahold of the back of the chair catching himself before he fell. 

Unfortunately, the sudden move pulled on the wound. He let out a hiss pain as he clutched his side once more, the other hand keeping a tight hold on the chair as he waited for the dizziness to pass. He felt fresh blood trickle down his leg.

“Captain?” Gideon enquired. The A.I. actually sounded worried.

“I’m alright, Gideon,” he said breathlessly. “I just need a minute.”

The cuff continued to sit on the floor mocking him.

Scowling, Rip cursed it vehemently. He still felt dizzy but he didn’t have much choice so this time he kept his hold on the chair as he reached down.

“What on Earth do you think you’re doing?” 

Startled, Rip quickly shot back up and really wished he hadn’t. He grimaced in pain as he swayed trying to find his balance once more.

Martin was standing in the doorway, hands on his hips, glaring at Rip.

“Martin,” Rip exclaimed pressing his hand against his torn side. “What... What are you doing here?”

“Gideon called me,” the professor replied.

The lines on Rip’s forehead deepened as he frowned. “Gideon? I don’t understand. Why would she...”

“You ordered me to inform Professor Stein anytime an injured crew member tried to access the systems in medbay and you were not available,” Gideon helpfully informed him.

Rip rolled his eyes. “Yes, but I didn’t mean me!”

“Well, I’m glad she did,” said Martin as he walked over to him, frowning as he looked him over. “You shouldn’t be treating your own injuries.”

“It’s nothing serious, just a scratch,” Rip told him. “Gideon shouldn’t have called you.”

“It was hardly necessary for her to call at all considering the current state of the ship.”

“What are you talking a....?”

“Rip Hunter, what the hell did you do?!” cried a new voice.

Both men turned back to the doorway and were met with the sight of a furious Sara Lance, an intimidating sight even to those who called her friend.

“Sara,” said Rip, swallowing nervously. “I...”

“You said you were fine,” she said as she stormed into the room. “What happened to our policy of not hiding injuries?”

“I wasn’t hiding anything,” Rip protested. “I didn’t know I was injured.”

“How could you not notice something like that?” she demanded gesturing to his bloodstained side.

“Actually, adrenaline can be quite an effective masking agent,” Martin explained, automatically switching to scientist mode. “Epinephrine produced by the adrenal glands focuses the brain preventing you from noticing the pain. There are stories of soldiers who have gone for hours without realizing they’ve been injured.”

“Yes,” said Sara. “I did actually know that already. What I was wondering was how the hell he didn’t notice all the blood.”

“Well, I suppose he did have other things on his mind at the time,” said Martin. “Though it would have been best if he had called someone when he did finally notice the injury.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “You mean he didn’t call you?”

“I’m afraid not,” Martin replied. “I had to wait for our dear Gideon to inform me.”

Sara’s full wrath was turned on Rip once more.

Rip hastily held up a hand before she could speak. “It wasn’t necessary,” he said. “It’s a minor injury and I’m perfectly capable of treating myself. How did you even find out?”

Sara gave a snort, a sharp huff of air. “Unlike some people, I actually notice the blood,” she said.

“I don’t understand,” said Rip. “What...?”

But Rip was interrupted once more as two more people dashed into the room, Jax and Ray, both with eyes widened in panic.

A stream of words immediately sprang from Ray’s mouth. “We just went back down to the cargo bay because we were feeling guilty about leaving Rip with all that mess and there was this whole new mess and it led us here and holy shit! Rip!” The last was said as his eyes fell on the captain. “What the hell happened?”

“Apparently, the pirate captain was a better fencer than I thought,” Rip explained, “but like I was telling Sara, it’s nothing, a minor injury. Gideon will have it fixed in no time. There is no need for all this fuss.”

“I’ll show you fuss,” Sara grumbled, crossing her arms over her chest.

“In terms of safety, I believe it’s prudent if someone other than yourself and Gideon handled your care,” said Martin.

“Are you sure that’s minor?” asked Ray, making a face as he pointed at Rip’s bloody side. “Because that doesn’t look too good to me.”

“I think I can tell whether or not...” Rip began.

“Guys!” Jax exclaimed. “Basic first aid!”

Shocked by Jax’s sudden outburst, they all turned to look at him.

Jax just shook his head and strode over to the back of the room where he grabbed a large gauze pad off a shelf. Then he walked over to Rip. 

“If something’s bleeding, you put pressure on it to make it stop,” he explained as he removed Rip’s hand from the gash and pressed the pad there instead making Rip wince. Gazing at the trails of damp and drying blood down Rip’s side and leg, Jax frowned. “Man, Ray’s right. This doesn’t look minor. How much blood have you lost? Shouldn’t we get Gideon to...”

“It is minor,” Rip insisted though he admittedly was beginning to have some doubts concerning that. With his attention returned to the wound, he was starting to realize just how lousy he was feeling. He tightened his grip on the chair leaning more of his weight against it. “And it hasn’t bled that much, has it?”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “Then why does the ship look like we’ve had our own local chainsaw massacre?”

“What?” Rip said in confusion.

But just then the final two members of the team entered the room.

“Did somebody try to kill someone?” asked Mick, and then he noticed Rip. “Oh, it’s just Rip. That’s alright then.”

“Having a bit of a problem, Captain?” asked Snart.

Rip lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Brilliant,” he exclaimed. “Well, now that everyone’s here, could you all kindly leave.”

Mick snorted folding his arms across his chest. “Shows what we get for caring.”

Rip shook his head in exasperation. “How did you people even know I was injured? Did Gideon tell you too?”

“No need,” said Snart. “We just followed the trail.”

“What trail?” Rip demanded.

“Uh, Rip,” said Jax, gazing at him somewhat worriedly. “You did kind of leave a trail of blood through half the ship.”

“What?” said Rip, frowning.

Sara gave him a look and flung a hand towards the medbay’s entrance and the rest of the ship. “There’s a pool of blood in the cargo bay, drops of blood all down the corridor, bloody hand prints on the walls.”

“Ah,” said Rip as he finally understood. He winced sheepishly. Apparently, he’d been bleeding a bit more than he’d thought. It was no wonder the team were so anxious and disgruntled. He would have been too if he’d found an unexpected trail of blood winding through his ship. “My apologies,” he said. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone, but as you can see, I’ll be fine. It really is just a minor laceration. I can tend to it myself so if you could all just...”

Before Rip could finish, he was interrupted by cacophony of comments as everyone began talking at once.

“With all due consideration, I don’t think that’s such a...”

“Come on, man. What if...”

“Are you sure? I really think...”

“That’s stupid.”

“Seems a little hypocritical to me.”

“Rip, stop being an idiot and let us...”

“Enough!” Rip cried putting all of his authority into his voice. He let go of the chair and straightened to his full height. “I appreciate you want to help but it’s really not necessary. I have been taking care of my own injuries for over a decade. The Time Masters didn’t exactly send out medical ships, you know. I’ve treated my own burns, reset my own dislocated shoulders, pulled out my own bullets. Once I even dragged myself for several miles with a shattered femur in order to get back to the ship and then the leg was so badly damaged I had to ampu....” He stopped. The team were all giving him strange looks, mixtures of anger, sadness, and pity. “What?”

“Dude,” said Jax, shaking his head. “You do know that’s not actually a good thing.”

Rip frowned and then waved a hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. I just need Gideon to... to do her thing and I’ll... I’ll be fine.” He swayed slightly on his feet.

Jax, who was still keeping pressure on the gauze pad pressed against Rip’s side, reached out a hand to steady him. “Rip?”

“I...” Rip began and then he swallowed. He suddenly really wasn’t feeling so great. He was cold and yet he could feel the dampness of sweat against his skin. His heart was beating even faster than it had been when he’d been running from the pirates and his legs felt like all strength had abandoned them.

A distant part of Rip’s mind realized this was a very bad sign. The rest of him though was trying to understand why everyone was staring at him with such worried expressions.

He stared back at them in confusion. “What... um...” he began again but found he couldn’t manage to say anything more. For the first time since he’d realized he was injured, a sharp spike of fear leapt through him.

Thankfully as she always did, Gideon came through for him. 

“Alert,” the A.I. declared. “Significant drop in blood pressure detected.”

Her timing couldn’t have been better because Rip’s legs were now giving out on him all together and he could feel himself falling.

And then suddenly multiple pairs of hands were there catching him, holding him. He hadn’t even noticed when the team had gotten so close.

“What the hell’s wrong with him?” Snart demanded, a surprisingly anxious edge to his voice.

“He’s lost too much blood,” Martin replied. “He’s gone into hypovolemic shock.”

“Minor laceration my ass,” Mick grumbled.

The words washed over Rip sounding strangely faint and faraway. The hands were guiding him back into the chair. He felt someone push him down into the seat while others lifted his legs and swung them around. All the motion seemed to make the world spin and he squeezed his eyes shut fighting against a sudden onset of nausea.

“Rip?” Sara called out to him.

Reopening his eyes, Rip saw her gazing down at him, a worried expression on her face.

“You’re going to be fine,” she said. “Just hang in there.”

All he could manage was a tiny nod in reply.

The chair was tilted back until he was horizontal and then was tilted even further back until his feet were several inches above his head. Rip felt something being attached to his wrist. The medical cuff. He’d almost forgotten about the blasted thing.

“Gideon, please,” said Martin.

The blue regeneration field came down over Rip causing him to squint against the brightness.

“Cauterizing wound,” Gideon announced.

Rip felt a searing heat along the gash in his side and he felt his muscles contract involuntarily, his whole body stiffening as he let out a hiss of pain.

Someone squeezed his shoulder and he caught sight of Jax standing over him. “Hang in there,” he said repeating Sara’s statement before turning to Martin. “What now?”

“Well, Gideon has stopped the bleeding and is repairing the damaged tissue,” Martin said, rubbing the back of his head in a fretful manner. “But he’s still in shock. It’s imperative Rip’s blood volume is restored as quickly as possible.”

“Can Gideon do that?” asked Sara.

“I can,” replied the A.I. “Synthesizing blood plasma.”

Out of the corner of Rip’s eye, he saw the tube connected to the medical cuff turn red as the blood slowly started to pump into him. Even Gideon’s advanced technology couldn’t instantly replace what had been lost. Despite the fact he was lying down, Rip still felt faint and shaky, his body cold and distant as if it were adrift in an icy sea. He started to shiver.

“Here,” said Ray. 

Something soft fell on top of Rip and he realized Ray had thrown a blanket over him. The hands returned tucking him in.

“Thank you, Raymond,” said Martin. “That should help. It’s best to keep his temperature up.”

Rip appreciated the blanket but its warmth seemed to barely touch the iciness surrounding him and its weight wasn’t enough to keep him from feeling like he was about to float away.

“So does this mean he's going to be okay or what?” demanded Mick.

“I don’t know,” Martin replied shaking his head. “He lost a lot of blood. I can't give a prognosis until he stabilizes.”

Mick growled. He was the only man Rip had ever met who would literally growl when angry. “I’m going to roast that pirate.”

The idea of Mick being concerned about him seemed so bizarre that Rip would have laughed if he had been in any state to do so. The whole situation felt bizarre, unreal as if it were happening to someone else.

“His blood pressure is still much too low,” Martin observed, worriedly, “and I don’t like how fast his heart is beating.”

“Don’t go and do something as stupid as dying on us, Captain,” said Leonard. Rip was just able to glimpse him standing near the end of the bed beside Mick. His face was pinched, his lips thin, his jaw tight with tension. 

“No one’s dying,” said Sara, fiercely.

“What she said,” said Jax.

Rip really wanted to agree with them but he could feel it, his heart fluttering uncontrollably in his chest like a feeling of overwhelming panic and even though he told himself it was just a symptom of the blood loss, the sense of panic was hard to ignore. He felt helpless and exposed. His body was still adrift, untethered and in danger of being washed away. Unable to help it, he began gasping for air, taking quick shaky breaths.

A hand wrapped around his and he held onto it as tightly as he could like it was his only anchor in a stormy sea.

“You’re okay,” Sara said softly. “We’ve got you, Rip. You’re okay.”

There were other hands too, holding onto his shoulder, his leg, and he could see the rest of the team gathered close around the him.

“We’ve got you,” Sara said again.

He gazed into her steady eyes, concentrated on the feel of the hands holding him, and eventually his breathing started to slow. His heartbeat soon followed as an unexpected sense of peace flowed through him, but even as it did so, the world seemed to fade and darken. In the distance, he thought he could hear the team calling his name but soon the voices faded too, and then there was only silence and darkness.

Consciousness returned slowly, awareness seeping through bit by bit. At first, Rip’s mind proved sluggish and foggy, and he couldn’t quite remember what had happened. He didn’t need to remember or even open his eyes to figure out where he was though. He’d recognize the feel of the Waverider’s medbay chairs and their uncomfortable polyurethane-covered foam cushions anywhere. He’d been in the chairs often enough. Even woken up in them a fair number of times so this was nothing new. The blanket was though. He could feel its warm weight covering him. Usually when he collapsed half-dead into a chair in the medbay and gave himself up to Gideon’s tender ministrations, he didn’t actually get around to grabbing one before he passed out. 

As more awareness returned, he quietly took stock. His breathing and heartbeat seemed normal. All limbs appeared to be intact which was good and there wasn’t any pain but a heavy fatigue seemed to have pervaded his entire body. 

What had happened to him, he wondered. 

Pirates. He remembered something about pirates, 18th century pirates, and the team running, and blood, lots of blood.

Suddenly, it all came flooding back to him and Rip let out a groan. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have stood around arguing when he was busy bleeding out? How could he have not realized he’d been losing that much blood? Heavy blood loss was known to cause confusion and disorientation, his brain helpfully provided for him. Fat lot of good that fact did him now. The team was never going to let him live this one down. Hopefully, he could sneak out of the medbay without running into any them and hide out in his quarters for a day or two.

The memory of the fear and the helplessness he’d felt when the shock had overtaken him also returned and he suppressed a shiver.

“Gideon, status,” he muttered, not bothering to open his eyes, and he waited for the A.I. to fill him in as usual on what had been happening while he was out.

“Well, we’re still cruising through the temporal zone, Mick is dismantling his heatgun for the fifth time, Leonard is almost halfway through reading Les Miserable, Martin has just won his seventeenth hand of poker which means Jax will be doing his chores for the rest of the month, Ray has finally managed to stop the left boot on his suit from making that annoying squeaking noise, oh, and I’m working on redecorating the medbay with floral wallpaper.”

Rip’s brow furrowed. The voice was familiar but it was definitely not Gideon's. Slowly, he opened his eyes. 

The first thing he saw was an odd circular blob floating some ways above his head. After he had blinked several times and his vision had come into focus, he realized that the blob was, in fact, a large balloon with the words ‘Get Well Soon’ on it in bright neon colours. 

Bewildered, he stared up at it.

“It was Ray’s idea,” said the voice that was not Gideon’s.

Rip turned his head towards the source.

Sara was there sitting in a chair by his bed, hand resting against her cheek as she gazed down at him.

“Sara? What...” he said wondering what she was doing there, and then his groggy mind processed what she’d said earlier. “Sorry. Wait. Floral wallpaper?”

A teasing smile appeared on her face. “Alright, so I might have been lying about that last part. As for the rest...” She nodded towards the other side of the room.

His head felt like it had multiplied in weight but Rip lifted it up and took in the rest of the medbay.

They were there, all of them. 

Ray’s Atom suit was on a stand in a corner of the room and Ray stood before it with several tools in his hands. He waved, wiggling his fingers at Rip. 

Up against the back wall, Mick sat with his heat gun half-dismantled, the pieces scattered on the floor in front of him. He offered Rip a grunt and a nod. 

Leonard was sitting in an odd V shape using Mick as a back rest and propping his feet up on the opposite wall. A large book rested on his lap. “About time you woke up,” he said before returning his attention to his book.

Jax sat in the other medical chair while Martin sat opposite him in a chair that must have been dragged in from the galley. There was a small table situated between them covered in playing cards and poker chips. Jax gave him a thumbs up, Martin a pleased smile.

“Didn’t I tell you he’d be conscious soon?” Martin said. “You’ll be pleased to know, Captain, that you’ll be making a full recovery. Your blood pressure is still a mite low and you are, unsurprisingly, somewhat anemic but it’s nothing some rest and a few iron supplements can’t cure.”

Instead of replying, Rip just stared. He stared at all of them as what he was seeing slowly sunk through his still somewhat groggy mind. They were there. Just like they had been there before when he’d gone into shock, the hands holding him. They were all still there. They’d stayed there watching over him, waiting for him to wake up. 

He realized he’d been staring a tad too long when Sara called out to him.

“Rip?” she said worriedly, eyebrows drawing together as she frowned. “You alright?”

Broken from his state of dumbfoundness, Rip shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Sara folded her arms across her chest and glared sternly at him. “The last time you said something was nothing it turned out you had a giant gash on your side which left you passing out from blood loss. What is it?”

“It’s just I wasn’t expecting...” He cleared his throat telling himself it wasn’t a lump he felt there. “I’m not used to someone being here when I wake up.”

It was true. Whenever he’d been injured before, whenever he’d been injured badly enough to fall asleep or more often pass out in the ship’s medbay, he’d woken up, sometimes painfully, only half-healed and still wearing clothes encrusted in blood, with nothing but Gideon’s voice for company. This... this was new.

A fond smile slowly spread across Sara’s face. “Well, get use to it,” she said patting him on the shoulder, “because we had a vote while you were out and from now on you are no longer allowed to treat any of your own injuries.”

Rip groaned and lay his head back down running a hand across his face. “I suppose that’s only fair,” he said. Then he narrowed his eyes at her. “Since when does this team vote?”

“We reserve it for special occasions,” Jax answered for her. “Like when our captain does something supremely stupid.”

“In other words, every other week,” said Mick with a smirk.

Rip didn’t let the fact he was lying on a medical couch and felt like a worn out rag prevent him from giving Mick a look that said exactly what he thought about that statement.

“Oh,” said Sara, pointing a finger in the air. “We also voted that you’re not allowed to scare us by almost dying ever again.”

Rip gave an amused chuckle at that. “I’ll try,” he promised.

“You’d better,” said Jax. “Grey had a big freak out when he thought your heart was going to stop.”

“I did not ‘freak out’,” replied Martin, bristling. “I was merely worried that the strain of the hypovolemic shock and the tachycardia might lead to a myocardial infarction.”

“Sure, man,” said Jax, tapping his head as he gave him a meaningful look.

Martin scowled in reply.

“We also voted to have ice cream for desert tonight,” said Ray with a grin. “I love democracy.”

“Yes,” said Martin as he finally stopped glaring at Jax. “Thankfully the motions to have Rip’s toenails painted green and give him a tattoo while he was out were not passed.”

Mick huffed. “I still say green’s the Captain’s colour.”

“And the tattoo would have been something good too,” said Snart. “Nothing tasteless. I was thinking a heart with ‘Legends’ written across it so he could show everyone how much he loves us.”

“Actually,” said Ray, a contemplative look in his eyes. “That doesn’t sound that bad.” He grinned. “Hey, you guys want to get matching tattoos?”

There were several groans and rolled eyes and an argument immediately broke out about what would and would not be an appropriate team tattoo.

Still encumbered by fatigue, Rip lay back and let his tired body rest as the argument washed over him. There was something surprisingly comforting about the noise, about having the familiar voices bickering in the background. They seemed to anchor him as much as the hands had done.

“Still glad to have this to wake up to?” Sara asked as the others continued to argue.

“There are worse things,” Rip replied with a small crooked smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While Rip was out, the team also had a long argument about which would be more appropriate to give him when he woke up: orange juice and cookies or tea and biscuits. Ray argued that orange juice was more appropriate because that's what they gave people who donated blood while Jax argued that since Rip was English, he would prefer tea.
> 
> Wow, this one ended up rather longer than I thought it would but it's one I've been meaning to write for ages, so I really hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Next?????  
> \- Fun in the Sun?  
> \- All I Really Need?  
> \- Hide and Seek?  
> \- Poor Sick Time Dad?  
> \- Cabin Fever?  
> \- Work and Play?  
> \- Beware Papa Bear?


	24. Fun in the Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of us in the northern hemisphere for whom the recent winter has been much too long.

Rip lay back in the sand and let out a deep sigh. 

Perhaps this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all, he thought. 

Beneath him, the soft sand contoured to the curves of his body; in front of him, the low, rhythmic ebb and flow of waves provided a soothing background noise; and above him, the bright sun bathed him in a warm light.

Closing his eyes, he let out another contented sigh and sank deeper into the sand.

Even the Captain of the Waverider was allowed to take a break every once and awhile.

It wasn’t long before he felt himself starting to drift off, giving in to the warmth and peace of his surroundings, but before he could completely enter the world of sleep, he felt a shadow fall over him. Reluctantly, he opened his eyelids a crack and peered through.

Standing above him blocking out the sun was an assassin in a red and white polka dot bikini.

“Is there something I can do for you, Miss Lance?” he asked, tiredly.

Sara gazed down at him, hands on hips, eyebrows raised. “We finally get you to let us have a vacation, drag you out into this paradise, and you’re seriously going to spend the whole time dozing on the beach?”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Rip, and he closed his eyes once more. He opened them again a second later when he felt a sharp kick to his leg.

Sara stared sternly at him. “You’re supposed to be having fun.”

“No,” Rip replied. “I’m supposed to be relaxing which is what I was trying to do before you came along.”

“Having fun is relaxing,” Sara insisted. “Look at the rest of the team.” She gestured behind her.

Wearily, Rip lifted himself up onto his elbows and looked. 

The tropical cove they were currently occupying was remote, and in this time period, completely isolated from the rest of civilization meaning they had the beach all to themselves. The sand was white. The sea was turquoise. The sky was an impossibly bright blue. Vibrant green palm trees swayed lightly in a gentle breeze. 

Sara was certainly right about one thing, Rip admitted to himself. The place was definitely a paradise.

Jax and Ray were sitting in the sand a short distance away, dressed in brightly coloured shorts as they worked on building an increasingly large sandcastle. There were large grins on both their faces. Martin, in a blue Hawaiian shirt and khaki capri pants, was paddling through the shallows nearby. He picked a seashell out of the water and brought it over to the castle builders. Ray happily placed it on one of the walls beside several others. Mick and Leonard, however, were not on the beach. They were out on the water on stand up paddle boards though neither one of them was currently paddling. Instead, they were using their paddles to try and knock each other off their boards. As Rip watched, Leonard used a tricky twist of his paddle to knock Mick off his feet and send him tumbling into the water with an enormous splash. Rip swore he could see Snart’s triumphant smirk from where he sat.

“I’m glad to see they’re enjoying themselves,” he said to Sara. “But I’ve yet to see your point.”

“My point,” Sara said, “is that they’re all having fun and relaxing at the same time, together even, instead of, you know, lying like a lump on the beach.”

“Some of us are perfectly happy being a lump on the beach,” Rip countered.

Sara gave him a look. “Come on, Rip. At least come into the water with me, go for a little swim.” Giving a crooked smile, she added, “If we’re quick, we might even be able to steal Mick and Len’s paddle boards.”

“I appreciate the invitation,” said Rip, lying back down in the sand, “but I really have no wish to go in the water right at this moment.”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “Are you seriously telling me you can look at those beautiful sparkling waves and say you don’t want to go in?”

Rip raised his head, looked at the beautiful sparkling waves, and said, “I don’t want to go in.” Then he rested his head back down once more.

Sara leaned over until her face was close to his. “I am going to get you into that water whether you like it or not.”

“Forget it, Sara,” said Rip, closing his eyes. “You’re fighting losing a battle.”

Sara kicked his leg again and Rip reopened his eyes scowling up at her. He really needed to have a conversation with her about her more violent tendencies. “Yes?” he said.

“It’s not going to work you know,” she said. “I’m not giving up on this.”

“Really?” he said, challengingly.

Straightening up, Sara folded her arms across her chest. “I convinced Leonard Snart, the infamous Captain Cold, to come out in the tropical heat in nothing but a pair of Bermuda shorts. I think I can convince the great Captain Rip Hunter to get into the water.”

“We shall see,” Rip said and once more closed his eyes.

“Oh, we shall,” Sara replied ominously, and Rip heard her footsteps moving off through the sand.

Rip gave a sigh of relief, glad for the return of the peace and quiet, and staunchly ignoring the sense of foreboding Sara's final words had left him with.

Settling back into the warm sand, he let himself relax and soon he had drifted off into a contented sleep.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep when he was abruptly woken up by several hands grabbing hold of him. They clutched at his arms and legs, and Rip suddenly felt the world disappear out from under him as he was lifted up into the air. Letting out a panicked gasp, he opened his eyes and found himself looking up into the grinning faces of several members of his team. Mick had his right arm, Leonard his left, and Jax and Ray each had a leg. They were holding him up so he dangled between them.

“What hell?” he exclaimed. “Put me down!”

The four just grinned wider.

“That’s it, team,” Sara called out. Rip was just able to catch a glimpse of her between Mick and Ray. She had an especially smug grin on her face. 

“Sara,” he growled.

She ignored him. 

Martin was standing beside her, a slightly concerned look on his face. “Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked.

“You bet it is,” said Sara. “Alright, Legends.” She pointed down the beach. “Forward march.”

The four holding him began marching carrying Rip with them down to the sea.

Rip couldn’t help letting out a groan when he realized what was going to happen.

He glared up at his captors. “As your Captain, I order you to put me down now.”

“Sorry, Rip,” said Ray, shaking his head, “but we’re on vacation.”

“Yeah,” said Jax. “Can’t take orders while on vacation.”

“Of course, some of us don’t take orders even when not on vacation,” said Snart with his usual smirk.

“Ditto,” said Mick.

Rip briefly debated struggling, trying to slip from the team’s grips, but they had a tight hold on him and he’d really rather not hurt them even when they were being a pain in his ass. 

“If you don’t let me go, I’ll disable the food fabricator and toss out all the food so all we have left to eat is ship’s rations for the rest of the week,” he threatened.

Jax shrugged. “I’d have the fabricator fixed up within a day,” he replied.

Realizing he was right, Rip tried a different tactic. “If you don’t let me go, I’ll order Gideon to turn off all the heat in your quarters.”

“Gideon wouldn’t do that,” said Ray. “Gideon loves us.”

“I’ll hide all the alcohol,” Rip said in one last desperate attempt at a threat.

Mick frowned and hesitated, almost stopping.

Leonard, however, was unconcerned. “We’ll just find it again," he said. "After all, we already know all your hiding spots.”

Rip grimaced. That was true, well, for the most part. He still had a few hidey-holes they didn’t know about but he wasn’t going to tell them that. Unfortunately, he had now run out of ideas and also beach.

His four captors stood in several inches of water holding Rip just out of its reach.

Sara, who along with Martin had followed behind them, came around and began issuing orders. “Everyone ready?”

The four nodded. 

Rip groaned.

Martin grimaced and put his hands over his eyes.

“On three...”

Ray, Jax, Mick, and Snart began swinging Rip back and forth.

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” said Rip, eyes widening.

“One...”

“You can’t seriously....”

“Two...”

“Don’t you d...”

“Three!”

Rip’s last word turned into a yell as on the apex of the last swing the four Legends let him go and sent him sailing through the air. 

He landed in the sea with a giant splash, the water engulfing him. At first, he was overwhelmed by the shock from the sudden impact and the coldness of water and he floundered, but then he was able to get his feet under him and he pushed himself to the surface emerging wet and bedraggled, his drenched hair hanging down over his forehead, his wet T-shirt and shorts clinging to his body.

He turned towards his team and scowled.

The Legends’ response was immediate. They fell over laughing. Even Martin, who had originally been against this, began to snicker.

Rip glared at them but it was upon Sara whom he focused most of his wrath. Seeing as she was too busy laughing to pay attention to what he was doing, he pushed his arms deep into the water and then flung them in her direction sending out a giant wave. 

The sudden drenching put a quick end to Sara’s laughter. Her eyes at first widened in shock but then quickly narrowed to slits as she glared at Rip.

An amused smirk slowly spread across Rip’s face.

“You know this means war,” Sara said, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She charged at Rip.

The ensuing water fight soon encompassed all the Legends. By the end of it, everyone had been dunked and splashed multiple times, Martin’s glasses were lost, Ray had almost drowned twice, and Rip had gotten complete and thorough revenge on his entire team.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid updates might become a little less frequent but only because I have other fanfic ideas trying to get my attention. They all are, of course, Legends of Tomorrow fics and very much Rip centered but they don't quite fit in with the Time Dad series.
> 
> Next: Probably 'Beware Papa Bear' as it seems very popular or 'All I Really Need' because I really feel the need to write that one.
> 
> The List:  
> \- Beware Papa Bear  
> \- All I Really Need  
> \- A Few Comforts from Home  
> \- Good Morning, Waverider  
> \- Poor Sick Time Dad  
> \- Hide and Seek  
> \- Cabin Fever  
> \- Work and Play  
> \- The Answer is No


	25. Beware Papa Bear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Life managed to derail the completion of this fic multiple times over the past couple weeks.
> 
> Warnings for some blood and violence. This ended up being a little darker than anticipated. Also a few original characters and multiple POVs, POVs I've never actually written from before so hopefully I've managed to do the characters justice.

_Ray_

In retrospect, thought Ray as the tentacles tightened around his body, poking the big, swirly portal thing with a stick had probably been a bad idea. 

It had all been done in the pursuit of science, of course. He hadn’t had any scientific instruments with him so how else was he suppose to examine the shimmery vortex that had suddenly appeared hanging in the air. It wasn’t like he’d known a bunch of angry, squid-like tentacles would burst out of it, wrap around him, and begin squeezing him to death.

Worriedly, Ray watched the tentacles protruding from the portal wave and writhe in the air while the ones holding him tightened even more making it rather difficult to breath.

His Atom suit would have been very useful at this point. He could have used its lasers to blast the tentacles freeing him so he could fly away. Unfortunately, he wasn’t actually wearing his Atom suit. It was currently stuck in its shrunken state in his pocket which he couldn’t reach due to the tentacles currently pinning his arms to his sides.

The tentacles around him tightened even more.

“Um, guys?” Ray choked out, hoping the words would still reach the comlink in his ear. “Maybe you could... hurry it up... a bit. I’m beginning to think... this thing likes... its meals... well-squeezed.”

There was no answer.

He wasn’t actually entirely sure where the rest of the team were. They’d acknowledged his first cry for help but that was it. They’d split up awhile ago in order to find the disturbance so he didn’t know how far away they were or how long it would take for them to get to him.

Wheezing, Ray desperately tried to take in more air as the tentacles continued to squeeze. His ribs felt like they were grinding together and dark spots were starting to appear in his vision.

Suddenly, there was a zap followed by a loud screeching sound which almost deafened Ray. Several more zaps followed. 

Laser fire, Ray dimly realized, and familiar sounding laser fire at that though in the oxygen-deprived state he was in he couldn’t quite place it. He tried to see where it was coming from but the tentacles currently had him facing the wrong way. 

The screeching was becoming continuous now and the tentacles holding him had begun to tremble but they didn’t let go.

Then as abruptly as the laser fire had begun it stopped and soon so did the screeching. The tentacles seemed to regain their strength and began wriggling about with renewed vigor, but then there was a new sound, a kind of swooshing sound. It was followed by something that sounded disturbingly like someone chopping meat, and the screeching resumed even louder than before as the tentacles began to shake violently.

Only then did Ray finally spot the source of all the commotion.

It was Rip. 

Rip was hanging from one of the tentacles nearby, a look of fierce determination on his face and a fiery anger in his eyes. He was covered in splatters of some odd sort of purple slime and was hacking at the tentacles with... Was that a machete? 

Ray didn’t have long to be amazed by this sight because suddenly the tentacles holding him had gone slack and he was falling. He hit the ground with a bone jarring thud and lay there coughing and wheezing as he drew in much needed air.

When he had recovered enough to lift his head and take in his surroundings, he found Rip now standing protectively in front of him, his long duster swirling around his feet, a machete in one hand, his revolver in the other as he fired at the remaining tentacles protruding through the portal entrance.

The tentacles, many now a lot shorter than they had been, writhed in the air a couple more times before finally retreating, leaving only the shimmering swirl of the portal behind.

Ray let out a sigh of relief. He pushed the severed remains of one of the tentacles off him only now realizing that he too was splattered in the slimy, purple stuff. Tentacle monster blood, his brain informed him, and he grimaced in disgust.

“Are you alright?” 

The fiery anger, which Ray had admittedly found a touch terrifying, was gone from Rip’s eyes and had been replaced by anxious concern as the captain gazed down at Ray. 

“Yeah, I think so,” said Ray. “Thanks for the save.”

Rip offered a hand and Ray took it letting the other man pull him to his feet.

“What was that thing?” Ray asked as he rubbed his sore ribs, cracked if not broken. He made a mental note to have Gideon check him out later.

“Some sort of interdimensional creature,” said Rip, in a manner Ray found a tad too casual given the circumstances. “I’m afraid I hadn’t realized the disturbance Gideon had detected was spatial as well as temporal.”

“Right,” Ray said with a nod, deciding to just go with that for now. “Next question: where did you get the machete?”

Rip gazed at the large knife in his hand as if he too wasn’t quite sure where it had come from. “I, uh, borrowed it from somewhere. I thought it might come in handy.”

Ray started at him a moment and then gave another nod. Apparently, this was another thing he would just have to learn to accept. 

Turning to look at the portal once more, Ray saw that the swirling vortex was still there hanging in the air. “Giant tentacle monster aside, that thing is pretty amazing,” he said. “Though I suppose poking it with a stick wasn’t one of my best ideas.”

Rip’s eyes widened as he stared at Ray in disbelief. “You did what?”

Ray winced, sheepishly. “It was just an experiment,” he said with a shrug. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

With the tired look of a man who had been greatly put upon, Rip ran a hand over his face.

“Okay, so admittedly, I probably should have at least put my suit on first,” said Ray. He put his hand in his pocket, felt his shrunken suit there, and turned it over in his fingers. His eyes lit up as a thought suddenly occurred to him.“Hey. How about I...”

“No,” said Rip, giving Ray a sharp look.

“I was just going to suggest that I...”

“No.”

“But I could...”

“No!” Rip snapped. “What we’re going to do is head back to the Waverider and fetch the appropriate equipment with which to shut this portal down for good. There will be no more experiments with sticks or without.”

Ray’s shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he agreed, sullenly.

Rip kept up the stern glare another moment as if to ensure his message really had gotten through, and then his face softened. “Come on,” he said, patting Ray on the shoulder. “Let’s get back to the ship so Gideon can fix you up.”

Ray managed to call up a small smile in response, but as Rip turned to leave, he couldn’t help sending one last wistful look back at the portal. 

The vortex in the air shimmered and swirled invitingly while on the ground below, among large splatters of purple blood, the severed tentacles shriveled beneath the warm sun.

Ray sighed and turned around reluctantly following Rip back to the ship.

  


_Mick_

Twisting the weaselly, little henchman’s arm even further behind his back, Mick weighed the satisfaction he’d feel from taking the man out against the annoyance of having to put up with another lecture from the Englishman.

“Hey, hey, hey,” the henchman cried, wincing in pain. “Watch it.” He turned to Rip. “Tell your attack dog to lay off, will you?”

A growl rumbled in the back of Mick’s throat and he tightened his grip even more. “I’ll show you attack dog.”

The henchman cried out again.

“Mr. Rory,” said Rip, sternly, giving him a warning look.

Mick scowled in response. It wasn’t like he was going to kill the man. He didn’t do that sort of thing anymore, at least not much, and besides, he wasn’t an idiot. He knew this guy had information they needed. The henchman was the only lead they had to find the time pirates that were hiding out somewhere nearby. Mick was just putting a little extra pressure on him to make sure he talked.

Rip kept up his glare for a moment longer before turning back to the henchman held in Mick’s arms. “Now, what’s your name?”

“What?” the man exclaimed. “I’m not telling you that.”

Mick snorted. It wasn’t like the name was that important. Besides, he already had the perfect name for the guy: Weasel. Weasel, the weaselly heachman.

Rip gave a tired sigh. “Fine,” he said. “Then maybe you would be willing to tell us where certain friends of yours happen to be.”

“Yeah?” said Weasel, the weaselly henchman. “And why should I do that?”

“I can give you a reason,” said Mick with an evil smirk as he increased pressure on the man’s arm once more.

Weasel hissed in pain squirming about as he tried to break out of Mick’s hold. “Leave off, you fucking oaf.”

Mick snarled, the idiot’s words only making him want to press harder.

Rip put up a hand indicating for Mick to stop.

Mick obeyed though he let out a discontented huff as he did so. Sometimes the captain was too damn soft for his own good.

“You’re fools if you think this is going to make me talk,” said Weasel. “Anything you do to me is nothing compared to what those pirates will do.”

“Well,” said Rip, crossing his arms over his chest, “considering you’re already talking to us, I doubt you’ll be in their good books anyway, and if we were to encounter them and happened to drop a few hints about how you’d told us about them...”

Weasel's eyes widened and he blanched. “You wouldn’t.”

Mick had to hand it to Rip. That wasn’t such a bad idea. It might even work. He hadn’t realized the man could be so sneaky. 

“It won’t be necessary if you tell us what you know,” said Rip. “Give us the pirate’s location and my team and I can take care of them before they cause you any trouble.”

“You’re bastards, you know that,” said Weasel, scowling. “Both of you.”

Mick grit his teeth. He was hating this guy more and more with every word he spoke. Needed information or not, he really wanted to take him down.

“These bastards just might be your only salvation,” said Rip. He leaned towards the henchman raising his eyebrows expectantly. “So are you going to talk?”

Weasel just laughed and shook his head. “Pathetic. That’s what you are, pathetic and deluded. You really think you can take on these pirates? You’ve got no idea what you’re dealing with.”

“You don’t know my team,” Rip replied, calmly.

Weasel sneered. “Well, for your sake, I hope the rest of them aren’t anything like the moronic dimwit you’ve got holding me.”

Mick’s eyes narrowed as a rush of hot fiery anger spread through him.

“Seriously, where’d you pick him up?” Weasel continued. “Guy’s got muscle but less brain cells than a stoned worm with a concussion. Bet you pay him in doggy treats and write his orders on the back of his hand so he can remember them. You should really...”

Red filled Mick’s vision. He had had enough. He didn’t care what this man knew. He didn’t care if he was their only lead on the pirates. He didn’t care that Rip was going to be pissed off with him. He was sick of people treating him like an idiot and he was going to make this weaselly henchman pay for every little comment he’d made.

Mick’s hand clenched into a fist. He loosened his grip on the henchman so he could strike at him but he never got the chance.

Rip beat him to it.

With a fist that seemed to come out of nowhere, Rip struck the henchman on the jaw making Weasel’s head snap back. Rip might be thin but he was wiry and knew how to deliver a proper punch even if he wasn’t always very good at dodging them. Weasel barely even had time to be surprised before he lost consciousness. 

Astonished, Mick stared at the man slumped unconscious in his arms. Realizing there was little point in holding him anymore, he let the man fall bonelessly to the floor. The body hit the ground with a thud and Mick turned his puzzled gaze to Rip, the unasked question clear in his eyes.

“I owed you one,” Rip said with a shrug, rubbing his sore knuckles. He grimaced as he looked down at the unconscious man. “It seems were going to have to find another lead. Come on.” He turned and began walking away leaving the fallen henchman behind.

Mick gazed after him, still in shock. “Huh,” he said. “What do you know.” 

And then, after giving a quick kick to the unconscious Weasel’s stomach, he followed after the captain.

  


_Martin_

As Martin stood there, hands raised, watching the woman with the gun pace back and forth in front of him, he wondered, for nowhere near the first time, how his life had ended up this way. 

Just a few years ago, he would never have imagined someone pointing a gun at him, let alone for it to become practically common place. Of course, the fact it was practically common place didn’t mean he wasn’t scared shitless as they say colloquially. He was experienced enough now to keep his head and not fall into a complete panic but it was still very unnerving having someone threaten you, especially when it was a woman wearing heavy body armor who had proven to have extensive combat skills and was currently waving around a fully loaded, assault rifle. 

The woman’s footsteps echoed through the empty warehouse as she paced, gun held almost casually in her arms. Her eyes flickered in Martin’s direction and he swallowed nervously. Quickly glancing to the side, he assessed the state of his fellow captive. 

Rip, by comparison, barely seemed concerned by the woman at all, or her gun. In fact, as he stood there, his own hands also raised in the air, his eyes never leaving their antagonist, he mostly looked annoyed, not an uncommon state for the man.

“Shall we get this over with?” the woman said as she finally stopped her pacing and turned to face them.

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Rip said, dryly. “I do have rather more pressing issues to deal with today.”

“Well, I’m afraid you won’t have the time,” the woman said, running her fingers over her gun. “The question is,” she added, head cocked to the side, “whether we do this quick?” She pointed the gun at Rip’s head. “Or slow?” She pointed the gun at his knee. “Quick seems the wiser choice but I do love to have a little fun first.” She gave a malicious smirk.

Unimpressed, Rip met her gaze steadily, not showing the slightest hint of fear.

Martin winced. This really wasn’t how things were supposed to have gone. This was just supposed to be a quick reconnaissance mission. If they’d known that some of the members of the gang they’d been tracking, a gang who’d proven to have an unsettling amount of foreknowledge and futuristic equipment for 1962, would be there, they’d have brought some of the more powerful members of the team along with them, Martin’s better half for instance. Martin winced again, this time internally. Technically speaking, Clarissa should be considered his better half, not Jax. He hoped he never slipped up and said that in front of her though he was sure she would find it highly amusing.

“Ever been shot in the knee?” the woman asked Rip. “I hear it can be quite painful. Of course, a gut shot’s always fun too.” She moved the gun to point at Rip’s stomach and stroked a finger along the trigger. “Depending on where I hit, it can take a surprisingly long time for you to die, and after what you did to my friends, I so like the idea of watching you writhing on the floor.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” said Rip in an almost irritatingly calm manner. “You seem like the sadistic sort.”

If only Rip hadn’t been disarmed when taking out those other two gang members, thought Martin. He could just spot Rip’s revolver on the floor at the other end of the warehouse beside the two unconscious men who thankfully didn’t appear to be about to get up any time soon.

“So any preference?” the woman continued, still focused on Rip. “Or should I just start shooting until you start screaming?”

“Yes, actually, I do have a preference,” said Rip, taking a step towards her. “How about instead of shooting me, you tell us where you’ve been getting all of the specialist equipment you’ve been using recently.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “And what would you know about that?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she seemed to reassess him.

“Oh, I know a lot of things,” Rip said with a wry smile.

“Yeah, sorry, not good enough,” the woman replied, levelling her gun at him once more.

Martin’s heart, which had already been going at quite a pace, began beating even faster. He really hoped the rest of the team would appear soon. He wondered what was taking them so long. He could feel Jefferson’s worry over their psychic link and it was making him even more worried even though he knew the main reason Jefferson was worried in the first place was because he could feel that Martin was worried. 

Psychic feedback could be a bitch as Jefferson liked to say.

Rip gave a derisive snort as if there wasn’t a woman currently pointing a rather large gun at him. “I’m afraid you won’t get anything out of me that way.”

The woman gazed at him a moment and then nodded concedingly. “You’re right.” She turned her gun at Martin. “Of course, I’m sure you’ll start talking fairly quickly as soon as I start blowing bits off this friend of yours.”

Eyes wide, heart now pounding at full tilt, Martin started backing away. “Wait, wait. If we could just, uh, talk about this...”

“Now where to start. How about I...” the woman began taking a step towards Martin but she didn’t make it any further.

With a speed Martin hadn’t known he possessed, Rip launched himself at the woman grabbing her rifle and pushing it up into the air.

Martin cringed as a spray of bullets emerged from the gun but fortunately none of them hit their mark.

The woman and Rip wrestled for the gun, each trying to get the upper hand. It wasn’t long though before it slipped from both their grips and went sailing across the warehouse. With the gun gone, the pair began fighting in earnest, bringing all their skills to bare, fists and feet flying. 

Martin winced as Rip took what must have been a rather painful blow to the ribs. He desperately wanted to help but had the feeling he would just get in the way. 

The two fighters were fairly evenly matched. The woman perhaps had more skill but Rip seemed to be fighting with a drive and a fury she didn’t possess. After a couple more minutes, he was able to find an opening and managed to land a solid blow to her head. The woman looked shocked for a moment and then slumped unconscious on the floor. Rip stood over her breathing heavily.

“Captain, are you alright?” Martin asked, hurrying over to him.

Rip brushed back a lock of hair which had fallen over his forehead. “I’m fine.”

Now that the fear and the shock of the events were starting to wear off, Martin felt a wave of anger rush through him. “That was reckless and dangerous,” he snapped, “taking on that woman unarmed. You could have been killed. You should have waited for the others.”

“Maybe she shouldn’t have threatened a member of my team,” Rip said in an unapologetic tone.

Stunned, Martin stared at Rip. He cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose a thank you is in order."

"You're welcome," said Rip, bowing his head. 

"But don't do it again," Martin insisted. "In fact, let's never do anything like this again. I think I've had quite enough of people pointing guns at me. Next time take Mr. Rory with you." 

Rip just gave him a smile, one which was far too knowing for Martin's liking. "Come on," the captain said. "We should get out of here before we encounter anymore unexpected surprises."

"Right," said Martin, and he followed Rip out of the warehouse giving the unconscious woman a wide berth just in case.

He was definitely never doing this sort thing again, he reiterated to himself, not unless it was as Firestorm, but in the back of mind, a tiny voice quietly whispered telling him it was inevitable, that he would be there, volunteering once again, the next time such a mission arose. Apparently, that's what came with being a Legend.

  


_Jax_

Not so long ago, Jax hadn’t known much about electronics beyond what made the inside of a car tick, but now as he gazed at the giant assortment of metal parts, wires, and circuit boards in front of him, it took mere seconds for his eyes to fall on the exact piece he needed, and he grinned.

“How much for that?” he asked, pointing it out to the owner of the kiosk.

The kiosk seemed to have spare parts from every sort of machine imaginable, from vacuum cleaners to spaceships, from music players to particle accelerators, and Jax could tell the owner knew her thing even if it was simply from the grease permanently caked under the older woman’s fingernails.

The woman gave Jax a number but it meant nothing to him. He wouldn’t have known how much the part cost in his own time let alone in the early 22nd century. Fortunately, Rip had set him up with a credit chip thing, something that looked a bit like a flash drive, that apparently had almost unlimited funds. 

Jax nodded and held the chip out to the woman.

She raised an eyebrow at him but she brought out a machine that read the chip, and then when the machine gave a satisfied beep, passed him the part.

Jax had a feeling he’d been meant to haggle the price down but he didn’t care. He was just glad to finally have found the piece they needed to fix the Waverider.

Stepping back from the kiosk, Jax pressed a finger to the comlink in his ear. “Hey, Rip?”

“Yes?” came the captain’s voice over the link.

“I’ve got it.” Jax turned the part over in his hands. “Looks like it’s in good condition too. With this, we should have the ship up and running in no time.”

“Well done, Mr. Jackson,” Rip replied. “I’ll meet you back at the market entrance in a few minutes.”

“Roger that.” 

A smug grin spread across Jax’s face as he slipped the small, but oh so important piece of machinery, into his pocket. He couldn’t believe he’d beaten Rip, found the part they needed before the ex-Time Master, and to think the man hadn’t liked Jax’s idea of splitting up to cover more ground.

Weaving through the crowds of people, past the enthusiastic vendors and the stalls loaded with goods, Jax made his way back to the entrance of the market. There was no sign of Rip when he got there. Jax having apparently beaten the man once again. He did, however, spot what looked like a bar. At least, the kiosk certainly seemed to be selling drinks and there was a line of stools in front of it. Realizing he was thirsty and deciding he deserved a drink after what he’d accomplished, Jax went over and sat down.

“What’s your pleasure?” the bartender asked, a short man with long, shaggy hair which obscured a good portion of his features. 

Jax looked at the bottles that lined the back of the bar and embarrassingly realized he had no clue what any of them were. He was pretty sure there’d still be things like beer and whiskey a hundred years into his future but there was no guarantee. For all he knew, people might only be drinking fermented energy drinks by this century.

“What’s good ’round here?” he asked, casually, deciding to play it safe.

The bartender gazed at him through narrowed eyes as if sizing him up. “You want the good stuff? The real good stuff?”

Jax shrugged. “Yeah, sure,” he said. It wasn’t like he was in the 22nd century every day and he did have near unlimited funds at his disposal so he might as well go for the best.

Disappearing beneath the bar, the man began rummaging about, and eventually reappeared with a small bottle which contained a liquid tinted an oddly iridescent blue.

Jax gazed at it uncertainly. “Um, what’s that?”

The bartender, who seemed to have been waiting for Jax’s reaction, immediately broke into a wide grin. “This is Amrita, named for the nectar which is said to have given the Hindu gods their immortality, and trust me, my friend, you’ll feel immortal once you’ve tried this.”

“So, it’s some kind of liquor or what?” Jax wasn’t sure if it was the odd colouring of the drink or the man’s grin but something felt off.

“Of a kind,” the bartender replied. “It has a taste both sweet and sharp that’ll wake you up and have you seeing stars.”

Apparently even in the 22nd century they liked their sales’ slogans.

Jax stared at the bottle a moment longer, then let out a deep breath. “Sure, why not,” he said. Being a time traveller was all about trying out new things after all.

“You won’t regret it,” said the bartender, his grin growing even larger. 

He held out one of those credit chip readers and Jax obligingly pressed his chip against it noting that the number it displayed, while lower than what he’d paid for the part for the Waverider, was probably higher than what you’d expect to pay for a simple drink.

Once the machine had made its approving little beep, the bartender popped the top off the bottle of Amrita and with a practiced motion, poured it out into a small glass. 

The blue liquid seemed to steam slightly in the air.

Jax reached for the glass with tentative fingers comforting himself with the fact that at least this time he knew his drink wasn’t roofied. He raised it up and saluted the bartender. “Cheers.”

The glass was half-way to Jax’s mouth when a hand came seemingly out of nowhere and yanked Jax’s arm down with such force that the glass flew from his hand and smashed against the bar. Shattered glass and blue liquid spread out across its surface.

“Hey!” Jax cried out. “What’s the big...” he began but as he turned around he saw that the hand that had grabbed him didn’t belong to a stranger as he’d expected but to Rip.

Jax went from angry to shocked to angry again. He couldn’t believe Rip had done that. He was about to lay down a long tirade about how the captain needed to stop treating him like a kid, how he could take care of himself, and how he was definitely more than old enough to drink no matter what the drinking age happened to be in that time and place, but then he saw the look on Rip’s face. 

Rip was angry. In fact, he was furious, more furious than Jax had ever seen him, but the anger wasn’t being directed at Jax. It was being directed, quite vehemently, at the bartender. If there’d been any more power behind the glare Rip was sending him, the man would have been nothing more than a charcoal smear across the back of the bar. 

The bartender took a nervous step back.

“Uh, Rip?” said Jax, wondering what the hell was going on.

But Rip didn’t say anything. Instead, he quickly reached over, grabbed the bartender by the lapels of his shirt, and yanked him forward slamming him against the bar.

“Whoa, whoa,” said Jax, holding up his hands. “The guy just sold me a drink, that’s all.”

Rip didn’t seem to hear him. Without releasing his grip on the man, Rip leaned forward until his face was only inches from the bartender’s. “Is this how you make your money around here?” His voice was as sharp as a knife’s edge, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. “Selling illegal drinks to unsuspecting customers?”

“I was just... just... giving the boy a taste of Am... Am... Amrita,” the bartender stuttered.

“Also known as Blue Bliss or more appropriately Apoplexy?” questioned Rip, raising his eyebrows. “Which, as I recall, is currently illegal everywhere on the planet as well as some places that aren’t.”

Jax swallowed. He really didn’t like where this conversation seemed to be going.

“Pointless pro.. prohibition,” the bartender protested

Rip scoffed. “Right, and it has nothing to do with the fact it’s one of the most addictive substances ever created by man or due to its numerous side effects. Did you mention the side effects?”

“I... I... I...” the bartender choked out, barely able to speak now either due to fear or due to Rip’s tightening grip on his collar.

“Let’s see if I can remember them,” Rip said with derisive sarcasm. “Seizure, stroke, coma, death. I’m sure there are others but those seem to be the most important ones.”

A wave of nausea washed through Jax as he gazed down at the remains of his drink realizing just how close he’d been to making a huge and possibly permanent mistake.

The bartender had given up his protests and was now just squirming about, trying to get away, but Rip kept a good grip on him.

“Now, listen. This is what you’re going to do,” Rip said, speaking with a deadly calm though his eyes still blazed. “You are going to get rid of every single drop of this so called Amrita because if I come back here tomorrow and find any, I’ll burn your stall down with you inside. Do you understand?”

The bartender just stared at him frozen in fear, his face pale and damp with sweat.

“Do you understand?” Rip yelled, pulling the man so close he yanked him right off his feet.

The bartender nodded vigorously.

Rip finally let him go and the bartender collapsed across the bar. Rip gave him a look of disgust and then turning away, headed for the market’s exit at a quick pace.

Jax hurried after him fighting to keep up with the man’s long strides as they made their way out of the market. “I can’t believe I was such an idiot,” he said once they were away from the crowds. “I should have known something wasn’t right with that guy." He cursed himself mentally. He couldn't believe he'd been so naive. The fact he was in a different century shouldn't have made a difference. He should have known better than to trust that guy. "I’m sorry, Rip," he said, dejectedly.

Rip continued another few steps, the cloud of fury still surrounding him, but then he stopped. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and slowly let it. “No, Jax. It’s I who must apologize.” He placed a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” he told him. “I should have warned you that the vendors in this market like to up their sales by participating in less than legal activities.” He winced sheepishly. “And I’m afraid I may have overreacted somewhat when I saw what you were about to consume.”

“Yeah, well, you’d think I’d know by now to watch what I drink,” said Jax, with a self-deprecating smile. “How about next time I go for a drink in the future I take you along with me? Deal?”

A tiny crooked smile appeared on Rip’s face. “Deal,” he said.

Grinning, Jax slapped him on the back, and together they continued on their way back to the Waverider.

  


_Sara & Snart_

Sara gave the chains that bound her to the stone wall one final, useless tug; then sighed, and turning to her fellow prisoner, said, “I thought you were supposed to be the expert at breaking out of prison.”

“I am,” said Leonard, currently gazing at his own chains with a calculating look. “An expert at breaking out of late twentieth century and early twenty-first century prisons, not medieval dungeons.”

Medieval dungeon was a fairly accurate description of their current location, Sara had to admit as she gazed around their cell. The walls were made of a rough, tan coloured stone, a single, slit of a window high up on one wall provided the only source of light, and the locked and barred door was made of rusted iron. The same type of iron that had been used to fashion the chains which attached Sara and Leonard to the prison’s walls.

“So, you’re blaming your inability to get out of here on the fact we’re currently in 9th century Bagdad?” said Sara, raising her eyebrows at Snart pointedly. “So much for the infamous Captain Cold.”

Leonard scowled back. “I don’t see you making any progress getting out of those chains, Assassin. Didn’t they teach you how to escape capture in the League?”

“Sure, they did,” said Sara, giving her chains another tug hoping to spot some sign of weakness in the links. There wasn’t one. “They even locked me in the League dungeon once to see if I could escape.”

“And did you?” Snart asked, curiously.

“Eventually,” said Sara, unwilling to admit that it had taken more than a few days for her to figure a way out. 

Outside the cell, she could hear the guards moving about. They seemed in a good mood, chatting and laughing joyfully, a bad sign considering the Caliph had given them permission to do whatever they wanted with their prisoners before the execution the following morning. Sara knew the guards were quite eager to make use of the opportunity being unsurprisingly still sore from the injuries Sara and Snart had dealt them during their first encounter. Rip was going to be so pissed at them when he found out what they'd done. They'd accomplished their mission, found the time aberration, but in doing so, had managed to get in deep shit with pretty much everyone and now they were busy awaiting their imminent torture and death. Apparently, their inability to stay out of trouble still held true.

“Well, if we’re going to get out of these chains, we’d better do it soon,” she said, gazing warily at the cell door. “Those guards could burst in here at any moment and I don’t think they’re going to be nice enough to set us loose before they start having fun with us.”

“And if we do get out of these chains, what then?” asked Leonard. “In case you’ve forgotten, there’s still a whole ton of armed guards between us and the way out, and we don’t have any weapons.”

“It’s not going to be easy but if we’re free, at least we’ll have a chance,” Sara replied with more confidence than she felt.

“Then I guess I’d better get to work,” Snart said, and rummaging around in his jacket, pulled a metal pick out from somewhere in the lining.

Sara raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You had that on you the whole time?”

Leonard smirked. “Ye of little faith. Did you really think I didn’t have a back-up plan for just this type of scenario? Of course, if you think you can get free without my help...”

“Who says I can’t,” Sara replied, lips spreading into a smirk of her own.

The two grinned at each other, eyes twinkling.

“Last one to get free has to provide the other with a bottle of their favourite booze?” Leonard suggested.

“You’re on,” said Sara.

They set to work.

As Snart began making use of his lock pick, Sara twisted her wrist around in the heavy manacles that bound the chains to her arms. There was a little space manoeuvre thanks to the thinness of her wrists but not enough for her to actually free her hands. However, if she could dislocate her thumbs... She grimaced. This was going hurt but needs must. 

Just as Sara was about to force her left thumb out of its socket, the sounds coming from the other side of the cell door suddenly changed.

Sara froze staring at the door.

With his pick half-way in his manacles’ lock, Leonard did the same.

The ruckus outside had increased, and for a moment, Sara thought they were too late, that the guards were about to enter and get started with whatever they had planned for the two of them, but then she realized that the noise had gone from lighthearted celebration to sounds of surprise and alarm. Before long, a full fledged battle could be heard.

“Friend or foe?” Leonard wondered aloud.

“Friends,” Sara replied without hesitation. “Sounds like the rest of the team’s finally come for us.” She breathed a sigh of relief and added teasingly, “I guess we won’t need your prison breaking skills after all.”

Snart just huffed and continued working on his manacles apparently preferring to get himself free rather than wait for the imminent rescue.

Sara, however, decided to spare herself the pain of dislocated thumbs and leaned back to listen to the fight.

It seemed quite a ferocious fight. There was a lot of clattering swords and screaming from the guards. Sara strained her ears trying to identify the individual members of the team, trying to figure out just how well the fight was going, but the team seemed unusually silent. There were no shouts or cries from them and they even seemed to be obeying the seldom observed no powers and no future tech rule.

Sara's eyebrows knit together as she frowned. She knew her battle sounds and something seemed off but she couldn’t quite put her finger on what it was.

Eventually, the noises began to die down, the number of guards obviously dwindling. Soon, it grew completely silent.

Sara stared at the door waiting to see who would enter.

“Ha,” Snart declared having managed to free his left wrist but before he could begin on his right, he was interrupted by the sounds of bolts being drawn back followed by the clanking of a key being turned in a lock.

As the two watched, the iron door of the cell slowly creaked open.

It was Rip. He appeared through the doorway out of breath, his era appropriate clothing dishevelled and blood-splattered, a scimitar clutched in his right hand, a set of keys in his left.

He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted them. “Thank God.”

“Took you long enough,” said Sara, unable to resist giving him a hard time despite being immensely glad to see him.

Rip huffed rolling his eyes in exasperation but he came over to her with the keys, and within seconds, had set her free of her manacles.

“One bottle of Johnny Walker Blue,” Sara said to Leonard as she rubbed her chafed wrists.

Snart scowled. “That doesn’t count,” he said. With a few more twists of his pick, he finally managed to open the lock on his right manacle and then he too was free.

“You never said we couldn’t have help,” Sara pointed out, her eyes gleaming mischievously.

“It was implied,” Leonard shot back.

“Whatever this is about,” said Rip, holding up his hands, “and I’d really rather not know, it can wait. We need to get out of here before any reinforcements arrive.”

Sara sent Leonard a final triumphant smirk before turning to follow Rip out of the cell. “Are the rest of the team keeping guard outside?” she asked wondering where they had got to. She'd expected the whole lot of them to shove their way into the cell to make sure she and Leonard were okay, Mick especially.

“No,” replied Rip. “They’re busy on the other side of the palace creating a diversion.”

Sara frowned. “You’re here alone but...” She stopped, the sight that greeted her outside the cell causing both her words and her movements to draw to a sudden halt.

Beside her, Leonard also froze. “Shit,” he breathed.

Outside their former prison was a much larger room lit by the flickering flames of torches. Multiple reinforced doors, most likely leading to more prison cells, lined the walls on three sides. A large staircase leading up to the upper floor was on the fourth. The room had obviously been set up as a place where the guards could relax as well as keep guard because a large table with two long benches had been set up in the middle of the room and the remains of what must have been the guards' dinner sat upon it. The room might even have been quite cozy before it had been turned into a battleground. Now, it was a scene of carnage. The benches had been overturned, the table’s contents had been scattered, and the bloody bodies of a dozen guards lay fallen throughout the room. If anyone remained alive, and Sara had no wish to check, they were thoroughly unconscious and would be in for a long recovery time.

“You...” Sara began staring at Rip in disbelief. “You did this?”

Rip gazed at the fallen guards without the slightest hint of remorse on his face. “I didn’t have a choice.”

“I can see that,” observed Leonard with his usual sardonic tone. “I can also see you took them on with more than a little enthusiasm. What they do to piss you off? Refuse to share their dinner?”

Rip looked down at the blood-stained sword still held in his hand, his grip tightening on the handle until his knuckles shone white. “When I snuck down here, I was able to situate myself just out of sight. It was a good vantage point because I also happened to be able to hear everything the guards were saying. They were talking about what they were planning to do to you. They described it with lots of enthusiasm and in great detail.” He raised his head to look at Snart, an iciness that rivaled Leonard’s own in his eyes. “So, yes, you could say I was ‘pissed off.’” 

Sara swallowed suppressing a shiver. She might not know what the guards had said but she could tell from Rip’s tone that it had been bad, very bad, and her imagination was more than good at filling in the details. She exchanged glaces with Leonard. Apparently, the two of them had had a narrow escape.

Rip gave the room one final glance before heading for the exit. “Come on. We need to keep moving.”

Sara and Leonard hung back a second still trying to process what had happened.

“Did he seriously just slaughtered a whole room full of guards,” said Snart, incredulously, “for us?”

Sara shook her head in disbelief though on reflection she supposed she really shouldn’t be so surprised. When it came to family, Rip had always had a protective streak a mile long. Obviously, it wasn’t wise to get between Captain Hunter and his team.

“Beware Papa Bear,” was all she said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the kudos and comments. Your comments never fail to make my day.
> 
> Next? I have no idea. I can't decide.
> 
> The List:  
> \- All I Really Need  
> \- A Few Comforts from Home  
> \- Good Morning, Waverider  
> \- Poor Sick Time Dad  
> \- Hide and Seek  
> \- Cabin Fever  
> \- Work and Play  
> \- The Answer is No


	26. Cabin Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm taking so long to update these days. As usual the writing took longer than expected.
> 
> This one verges strongly on crack and is written in a slightly different format but I hope you enjoy it.

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420597_

Ready, Gideon?

.....

Alright, let’s begin.

In the interest of maintaining proper records, I’ve decided to keep a ship’s log, dictating out loud to Gideon in order to save time. The purpose of this log is to document the missions and the daily activities of our newly christened team of Legends.

It is not, despite what other people may have said when I mentioned it to them, a diary. I don’t know why they find it quite so amusing. Dr. Palmer, at least, seems to appreciate it though why he insists on calling it a captain’s log or what a ‘stardate’ is I may never know.

Our latest mission was to the colony of Prince Edward Island in 1864. A group of time pirates, for reasons that have yet to be determined, were attempting to disrupt the Charlottetown Conference, a conference which would later lead to the confederation of Canada. If the time pirates had succeeded, the British colonies of northern North America would never have united and Canada would never have become a country which would have not only disrupted the timeline but would have had disastrous consequences for the future of the entire world.

We were ultimately successful though the mission nearly ended in disaster several times which seems to be the status quo for this team. It might not have been quite so disastrous if we hadn’t decided to disguise ourselves as members of the circus which was also visiting the town at the time. The conference was saved and went forth as planned. The SS Queen Victoria, where many of the delegates were staying, was not blown up. The circus on the other hand... Let’s just say I never want to see another monkey as long as I live. At least watching several members of the team attempt to impersonate acrobats and perform tricks on horseback was, to put it mildly, quite amusing.

The mission ended with a pitched battle between the Waverider and the time pirates’ ship, the lamentably named Serpent’s Ass. Unfortunately, though we put up quite a fight, the time pirates got away and not before causing damage to the Waverider. A preliminary inspection shows the damage to be mostly minor but I am planning to have Mr. Jackson give the ship a more thorough inspection once I’ve jumped us into the temporal zone where we can safely effect repairs.

After the repairs have been made, I will begin researching potential aberrations so we can start planning our next mission.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420598_

All future missions, it seems, will have to be temporarily put on hold. The damage to the Waverider was rather more severe than we thought. The worse of the damage being to the time drive itself. The core is broken. It lasted just long enough for us to jump into the temporal zone before giving out. This means we’re stuck here until it’s repaired, and unfortunately, it’s not the sort of repair that can be expedited by human hands. Due to the nature of the core, it needs to regenerate itself, and based on my preliminary estimates, that will take at least two weeks.

The team seem to be in two minds about the news. Some took it quite well and are grateful for the break. Others are, understandably, frustrated at the prospect of being stuck on the ship for so long. Personally, I think it will be good for the team to have a chance to relax though I have concerns over how some of our more volatile personalities will react to being confined for so long. Hopefully, they will manage to maintain some sense of maturity and self-control over the coming weeks. I realize that is unlikely but I can still hope.

We spent most of today performing what repairs we can but Dr. Palmer has suggested we take the opportunity to have a game night this evening. I was somewhat dubious about the idea considering what happened during our last few attempts at such an event but the team do seem like they could use a break after all the repair work and it’s not as if I could stop them from having one anyway so I’ve agreed.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420599_

Make a note, Gideon. The list of games the team is no longer allowed to play is now as follows:

Monopoly  
Clue  
Charades  
Poker  
Twister  
Tiddlywinks  
Risk

One day we may find a game the team can play which doesn’t end in a fist fight or someone setting something on fire but so far that hasn’t happened. In the meantime, I’m seriously considering banning game night entirely, or at least locking myself in my quarters anytime one is attempted. Mr. Snart has recommended that next time we try something called Cards Against Humanity. Based solely on the name, I can’t say it sounds very promising.

Besides the damaged time core, which is still busy regenerating, most of the repairs are done. Mr. Jackson and I spent the day finishing them off as well as doing some much overdo maintenance. Jax has been instrumental in aiding with the repairs and continues to amaze me as his knowledge of the Waverider’s internal workings grows at an exceptional rate. I wish I could say it was all thanks to me and my teachings but he has a brilliant mind and a natural instinct for how mechanical systems work which is entirely his own.

The rest of the team, meanwhile, have truly started in on their vacation.

Professor Stein, Mr. Snart, and Mr. Rory have taken the idea to heart and spent their day being idle, Martin lounging in an armchair in the library with several books, Snart and Rory parking themselves on the couch in the viewing room with numerous bottles of beer and a plan to catch up on all the television they claim to have missed out on.

Miss Lance and Dr. Palmer, on the other hand, have decided to be much more productive with their free time. Sara has staked out an unused room where she plans on doing some intense training. She claims to be getting rusty though I have yet to see any evidence of that. Ray’s own little project is cleaning. He plans to clean the entire ship from top to bottom. I’ve tried to explain to him that the Waverider has automated cleaning systems which take care of most of the dirt and dust but he still insists that the ship is overdo for a good spring cleaning. I haven’t the heart to tell him that the ship has never had a spring cleaning before. Gideon, though, seems surprisingly pleased by the prospect.

.....

Yes, I understand, Gideon, but...

.....

Are you suggesting that I’ve been neglecting things?

......

Well, I’ve been a bit busy of late.

.....

Fine, I’ll try to be more mindful of that in future.

Anyway, um, back to the log. All in all it has been a fairly peaceful day, no unexpected disasters so far. Let us hope that all our days spent exiled here pass in a similar way.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420600_

There is little to report today.

What repairs that can be made have been made. All that’s left is to wait for the time core to fix itself. Mr. Jackson was interested in trying to speed up the process but I managed to convince him there was nothing we could do. It didn’t actually take too much to convince him. He recently became aware of the numerous video games in Gideon’s databanks and has been eager to try them out. Last time I saw him, he was fabricating several game controllers.

Dr. Palmer is still cleaning, going through the ship room by room with a giant bucket of soapy water and a scrub brush, and wearing an astonishingly bright pair of pink gloves. I considered trying to explain the automated cleaning systems to him again but he seemed happy scrubbing so I decided to let him be.

Sara certainly seems to be enjoying her training. In fact, she’s enjoying it so much that she’s decided the rest of us should take turns joining her. Apparently, according to her, some of us could do with improving our combat skills. Snart volunteered to be first and spent the day getting beat up. He strangely didn’t seem to mind that much. The rest of us, however, are much less keen, and though I think it’s a great idea and will be a great aid for future missions, I myself am planning to avoid Miss Lance as much as possible over the next few days.

Mr. Rory spent his day being idle again, drinking and watching television. He’s worryingly already showing signs of restlessness though I suppose that’s not too surprising considering, out of all of us, he deals the least well with confinement and inactivity. I caught him yelling rather loudly at the viewing screen earlier and he has been going around complaining about someone stealing his beer.

I myself was at a bit of a loss as to what to do with myself. I thought I might as well do some research on possible time aberrations for our next mission but ended up spending most of the afternoon listening to Martin wax enthusiastically about physics. Apparently, something he read the other day sparked something in that genius brain of his. Unfortunately when he gets like this, there is no stopping him or getting a word in edgeways so I was unable inform him that I wasn’t interested in the subject or that I only understood half of what he was saying.

Perhaps I’ll try to do something slightly more relaxing tomorrow. I’m afraid trying to keep up with Martin has temporarily exhausted my brain power.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420601_

Today started out as a nice, relaxing day. I even had some time to just sit and read. It seems like ages since I’ve had time to simply read for pleasure and I was rather enjoying it. I should have known the peace wouldn’t last long.

It turns out a talk with Dr. Palmer about his cleaning might have been prudent after all. At some point during the day, he grew tired of scrubbing and decided to put his hand to organizing instead. He started in the cargo bay and had been going at it for several hours before I found out. By the time I got there, nothing was where it should be. I had to spend the rest of the day putting everything back or I would have never been able to find anything again.

Mr. Snart was there too, helping Ray, or at least, he claimed to be helping. I think he was just using it as an excuse to rifle through everything in hopes of finding something valuable. The two of them had created a large pile on the floor of things to be thrown out. It included many potentially valuable and irreplaceable items. When I told them off, they had the gall to call me a pack rat and insist I was hoarding too much stuff. They even called some of my collection of treasured artifacts junk. It was lucky I got there in time.

I think I’ve managed to convince Ray to keep his organizing to the kitchen for now but I’m going to have Gideon keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t start organizing anything else or worse start throwing things out.

.....

Thank you, Gideon. In particular, I'd like you to keep him out of the parlour. The last thing I need is for him to try organizing my study; then I'd never be able to get any work done.

As for the rest of the team, Mr. Rory has been growing increasingly restless. He broke the viewing screen he was using by throwing an empty beer bottle at it. I assume that means an end to his television watching. Hopefully, he’ll be able to find something else to occupy himself with while we are trapped here or I shudder to think what sort of things he might get up to.

Professor Stein, at least, seems to have spent a peaceful day. He spent almost the entirety of it in the lab. When I stopped by to check on him, I found he’d been writing formula all over the walls. I’d be concerned but this is pretty standard behaviour for Martin when he gets one of his ideas.

Mr. Jackson would probably have spent his entire day happily playing video games but Sara got ahold of him and roped him into one of her training sessions. Last time I saw him, he looked like he’d been beaten by an angry gorilla. I continue to do my best to avoid Miss Lance which has proven to be a wise move since, according to Jax, she’s in rather a foul mood at the moment. One of her favourite knives has apparently gotten lost somehow.

Once I’ve finished this log and repaired the damaged viewscreen, I can’t ask Jax to do it with the state he’s in, hopefully I can finally get back to my reading and find some peace once more however long it may last.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420602_

We’ve been stuck in the temporal zone for five days now and the team appears to be holding up very well for the most part though there was one slight incident today.

It was Dr. Palmer, of all people, who was the culprit. His cleaning managed to land him in trouble once again. After his failed attempt to organize the cargo bay, he went back to scrubbing including scrubbing several of the corridor walls. This would have been perfectly fine if it weren’t for the fact that Professor Stein, upon running out of space to write formula on the walls in the lab, had moved out into the hall. By the time I got there, Dr. Palmer had scrubbed away half of the professor’s work and the two of them were in the middle of a heated argument.

Fortunately, I was able to intervene. I managed to calm them down and Gideon came through for us having kept a record of what Professor Stein had written and what had been lost. We managed to reach a compromise where upon Martin agrees to keep his work inside the lab while Ray agrees to keep his cleaning away from there.

I do hope Dr. Palmer grows tired of this spring cleaning soon. It’s causing more trouble than it’s worth and I have the feeling I’m not the only one who thinks so. Ray was complaining earlier that some of his cleaning supplies had mysteriously gone missing.

Mr. Jackson, having recovered from his training session with Miss Lance, has resumed his video game marathon. He has converted his quarters into some sort of gaming lounge and has been spending all of his time there. Various other members of the team have joined him on occasion including Mr. Snart. I caught the two of them playing something called Grand Theft Auto which I suppose is appropriate.

It was Mr. Rory’s turn to be hauled to the training room by Miss Lance today and her timing couldn’t have been better. Mick’s increased restlessness has become worrisome. He even snapped at Jax early this morning for eating the last of the Fruit Loops, but after spending most of the day sparring with Sara, Mick seems to have calmed down considerably. I have never seen someone so pleased to have a broken lip and a black eye. I suggested he take a trip to the medbay to have them treated but he refused. Apparently, he prefers to keep his battle scars.

My time today, when not playing referee for various teammates, was spent reading again though I admit I too have been feeling a bit restless. I suppose I’m not used to such long periods of inactivity. I keep finding my thoughts straying to... less than pleasant things. Perhaps I’ll go back to researching possible time aberrations tomorrow.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420603_

Did I say the team was holding up well? What I meant to say is the team is holding it together by the thinnest of threads and will likely snap at any moment.

In the interest of keeping the peace, I’ve been forced to order Dr. Palmer to stop cleaning. It was necessary as he once again got into trouble today when he actually tried to clean Mr. Rory’s quarters, something even the bravest of men would be hesitant to attempt. I’m sure Ray thought he was being helpful. Mr. Rory unfortunately did not see it that way. Mr. Rory, it seems, prefers things messy and does not like his precious dirt disturbed. To say he wasn’t happy would be an understatement.

The resultant argument could be heard throughout the ship and threatened to get violent. I managed to intervene once more, only just getting there in time thanks to a timely warning from Gideon. Trying to appease Mr. Rory when he’s in one of his moods is never an easy task but I find offering food and/or alcohol goes a long way in improving things and I was able to keep him from killing Ray. Unfortunately, this incident seems to have undone any good Sara’s sparring session did. Mick is once again stomping restlessly through the corridors, uttering random threats, and growling at people. I will have Gideon keep an eye on him but I fear what he’ll do if he doesn’t find some sort of outlet.

Convincing Ray to stop cleaning was not too difficult after this incident but he still wasn’t happy about it and devolved into a rather sulky mood. I was almost tempted to call another game night just to cheer him up but fortunately Sara got a hold of him. I can’t say Ray enjoyed the sparring session but at least it helped keep his mind off things. Hopefully, he will feel better after a good night’s sleep.

Unfortunately, Miss Lance was also able to corner me and has made me promise to join her tomorrow. As I know what will happen if I do not, I will, of course, be there. I have told Gideon to have the medbay on standby just in case.

.....

No, Gideon. I don't think she actually plans to hurt me, not much at least. It's just in case.

.....

Be nice.

Ahem. Professor Stein decided to do the wise thing today and spent most of his time shut up in his lab avoiding everyone, or attempting to. I caught Mr. Snart trying to pester him earlier though I can’t think why. I fear Snart may be growing bored which is worrying. A bored Snart is almost as bad as a restless Rory.

Mr. Jackson also spent most of his time sequestered in his quarters playing video games as usual. It seems to me he’s been spending a tad too much time doing so recently. He spent most of his time alone because, apparently, no one wants to play with him anymore as he keeps beating them. The fact that, according to him, one of his game controllers has gone missing can’t have helped matters either. At least, he still has Gideon to play with him.

A lot of people seem to be complaining about things going missing recently and I’m starting to have a rather annoying suspicion.

As for myself, I’ve managed to pinpoint another potential time aberration to research which is what I've been working on today. I’m somewhat limited by what I can accomplish while stuck in the temporal zone but the research does help keep my mind off things. The team, though, seem to be doing a very good job of that by themselves. Sometimes it feels like looking after them is a full time occupation unto itself.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420604_

The inevitable has finally happened. I knew it would. Anyone could have seen it coming a mile off. Trap a temperamental pyromaniac in a confined space and it’s only a matter of time before something ends up on fire. What could Mr. Rory possibly set on fire on a timeship you ask? The laundry! Of all the bloody things...

Gideon alerted me to the fire shortly after breakfast. I raced to the laundry room and found Mr. Rory standing there watching the flames leap from the dirty clothing bin. The room was filling smoke but Mick didn’t even seem to notice. He was too busy being mesmerized by the flames.

Fortunately, the Waverider’s automatic fire suppression systems kicked in and put out the fire.

Unfortunately, they kicked in just as I entered the room so I, along with Mr. Rory, ended up covered in foam.

I haven’t the faintest idea how the fire started or whether it was deliberate or not, nor did I care at the time. All I cared about was the fact I was covered in foam, the laundry room was a mess, and the entire ship smelled of smoke!

I’m afraid I may have lost my temper somewhat though I believe it was justified given the circumstances. Mick got defensive and things might have ended badly but luckily Leonard intervened. He's always been the best at dealing with Mick when he’s in one of his more pyromaniacal moods and he was able to convince him to calm down and go to his quarters. Mick actually seemed somewhat despondent though whether it was due to the fact he’d given in to the urge to set something on fire or the fact the fire was out I may never know.

I had to spend most of the morning cleaning the laundry room while Gideon busily fabricated me new underwear among other things. I wasn’t the only one who lost a good portion of their wardrobe and the fabricator will be well used over the next few days.

Mr. Jackson and Dr. Palmer were kind enough to help with the cleaning. Jax has been sulking somewhat since Gideon refuses to let him play video games anymore.

......

Yes, I agree, Gideon, he has been rather overdoing it recently. Trust me you’re doing the right thing.

On the other hand, Ray, though he did briefly go back to cleaning in order to help out, has stopped sulking and moved on to caring for the plants in the galley. He’s been busy pruning and repotting all afternoon. It seems an odd pursuit for him but at least I no longer have to worry about his cleaning causing discord among the rest of the team.

Miss Lance got a hold of me as soon as the laundry room was restored to its previous order. Our training session was, for lack of better words, interesting. There is definitely a lot she can teach me and while I am grateful for the chance to hone my fighting skills, I’m sure I’ll be much more grateful when I’m once more able to move without being in considerable pain.

I think I’ve managed to convince Sara to take a break from her training for awhile. Like Ray’s cleaning and Jax’s video game playing, I believe it’s an obsession that has gone a touch too far. Sara joked that she would take up knitting instead to occupy her time. At least, I think she was joking. With this team, it’s difficult to tell.

Martin spent his time working in the lab once again. He poked his head out only twice, once to check out the mess left by the fire before quickly retreating lest he be roped in to helping with the clean up and once to complain to me about some missing equipment.

Having grown rather tired of things mysteriously going missing, I decided to confront Mr. Snart on the subject and to remind him he’s not supposed to practice his thieving skills on other members of the team. His only reply was a smirk and a dismissive comment. The missing items were eventually returned but that smirk worries me. At least, I now know how he’s been spending his free time.

This team is becoming more trying the longer we’re stuck in the temporal zone. Sadly, as Gideon keeps reminding me, locking them in their quarters for the rest of the time we spend here would not be appropriate nor would shoving them out the airlock.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420605_

Sometimes I worry about the sanity of this team. Hopefully, all this time spent exiled in the temporal zone isn’t having a negative effect on the team’s psychological states. Their psychological states were precarious enough to begin with.

I am particularly concerned about Ray. I caught him talking to the plants earlier while he was tending to them. Talking to plants is, I suppose, not that unusual but he has been spending quite a lot of time around them lately and has even gone so far as to name them. The pothos plant is apparently called Anthony.

Sara is another concern. As it turns out, she wasn’t joking when she said she was going to take up knitting. She fabricated herself a couple of knitting needles and some yellow yarn and spent most of the day trying to get a hang of it. Her initial attempts were somewhat less than successful, not that I would have told her so. The knitting needles she’s been using look particularly sharp.

Snart may have mentioned something though as I discovered him late this afternoon completely tangled up in yellow yarn. He's been spending time with Sara while she learned to knit either playing solitaire or immersed in a book. You wouldn’t think he’d be much of a reader but in fact it’s not that unusual to find Snart with a book in his hands. He was less than grateful when I cut him out of the yarn though I think he was mostly embarrassed about the loss of dignity and the fact he’d been unable to get out of it himself.

There was a touch more tension today as a squabble erupted between Martin and Jax though that in itself is not too unusual. I’m not entirely sure what started it but it might have had something to do with Jax hanging out in the lab pestering Martin. I think he grew bored without the video games to occupy him so was searching for something to do. Thankfully, the argument was resolved without the need for any intervention. It even resulted in Martin suggesting a new hobby to help keep Jax busy: a model railway. Jax was skeptical at first but has now fabricated a train and some tracks and seems to be quite enjoying himself. It will be interesting to see what he creates.

There’s been no sign of Mick. He stayed in his quarters the entire day and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. I did consider going to check on him and to apologize for losing my temper yesterday but I didn’t think my company would be welcome. Ray dropped by to deliver him food and beer and assures me he’s fine so I suppose we will have to wait and see.

I attempted to get more work done today but instead I ended up spending several hours trying and failing to find the book I’d been using to research this particular time aberration. I can’t think where it can have gone. It’s simply vanished and Gideon has been absolutely no help in aiding me to find it. Now I will have to find a way to do my research without it.

.....

Gideon?

.....

Gideon, what are you doing?

.....

Gideon, you know how much I hate showtunes. Would you please stop.

.....

I’m sorry, alright. I didn’t mean to...

.....

Gideon?

.....

Oh, God.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420606_

Ahem.

Gideon is the finest A.I. that was ever created. She is the light of my life, the soul of my ship, and I would never be able to accomplish anything without her.

There. Are you happy now?

....

Right, so we’ve been trapped in the temporal zone for nine days now and everyone seems to have settled into a routine.

Dr. Palmer continues to tend to and talk to the plants in the galley. It may be my imagination but I could have sworn they've grown noticeably over the past day or two.

Miss Lance continues to knit, her more recent attempts a vast improvement over her first.

Mr. Snart continues to read. Today, it was my copy of Frankenstein. I hadn’t realized he was into the classics, or horror stories for that matter. I warned him to be careful with it as it’s a signed first edition but he refused to make any promises to that effect so I will simply have to pray he takes care of it.

Mr. Jackson continues to work on his model railway. It’s becoming quite elaborate. He’s fabricated another train and more tracks along with a tiny station and several tiny people.

Mr. Rory is still spending almost all his time in his quarters. He did finally leave but only briefly to retrieve more beer and food. I passed him in the corridor but all he did was grunt when I greeted him though I suppose that isn’t too unusual. I heard some odd noises coming from his quarters later in the day making me wonder what he’s getting up to in there.

Only Professor Stein’s routine has changed. He’s moved from the theoretical side of his project to the applied and has asked me for several bits of equipment to aid him. I considered asking him exactly what he was building but then I realized it would mean I would be subjected to another three hour physics lecture so I decided to just give him the equipment.

My aberration research has stalled once again as I now seem to have misplaced the papers I was taking notes on. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me I should be doing something else with my time, that I should take up a hobby or something, or maybe not. Most likely, it’s just my usual bad luck.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420607_

The plants in the galley are definitely growing, growing at an exceptional rate. Is it possible Ray's talking to them has actually helped? It doesn’t seem possible but what else could it be? Anthony in particular seems to have grown quite large.

And the plants aren’t the only things on the ship that are growing.

Sara’s current knitting project, something made of purple wool, is quickly growing in size though I’ve yet to determine what it actually is and I haven’t the nerve to ask her.

Jax’s railway is also growing. He’s expanded it by laying tracks going out of his quarters and down the corridors of the ship.

Martin’s own project may very well be growing too. He certainly seems to be very happy about it. I caught him humming and singing to himself while he was making his lunch today. For some reason, that makes me worried.

Mick may also be working on something though I have no clue what. Those odd noises continue to come from his quarters and I caught him discussing something with Jax and Ray earlier. They grew suspiciously mute the moment I approached them. I thought about asking them what they were talking about but decided it was probably best I didn’t know.

Snart, who still keeps Sara company as she knits, was reading something in Spanish today. I suppose it’s not too unusual for those in the United States of that era to speak some Spanish but it was still surprising that he knew the language so well.

My own work has been stalled yet again. This time because I couldn’t find a pen. I have quite a few pens but somehow they have all mysteriously gone missing. I had to fabricate a bunch of new ones. I’m not usually so bad at misplacing things. It’s growing increasingly frustrating and an annoying suspicion as to what is really happening is once more growing in the back of my mind.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420608_

The team have been doing their very best to try my patience today, something they always seem to excel at.

It turns out it wasn’t Ray’s dulcet tones which were making his plants grow. He was in fact experimenting on them! He’s developed some sort of special formula which I caught him administrating to the plants this morning. I had to tell him to stop. I hate putting an end to another one of his projects but the plants are so large now that the galley is practically a jungle. Long tendrils from the pothos plant he lovingly named Anthony are trailing everywhere, curling themselves around the legs of all the chairs and tables. I recalled the other day that another name for the pothos plant is devil’s ivy and it seem appropriate.

The thing Sara is knitting is apparently a scarf, a scarf for me. She says she’s making it for me because I get cold easily. I’m touched however I would appreciate it a bit more if the scarf weren’t purple, an astonishingly bright purple at that. Purple is most definitely not my colour but I haven’t the heart to tell her so I will just have to hope we don’t visit anywhere I’d be require to wear it in the near future.

Snart is now reading something in Hebrew. Given his background, I suppose that’s not too unexpected but I had no idea he was so multilingual.

When not reading in various languages, Snart’s apparently been aiding Mick with whatever he’s doing. Mick definitely appears to be building something. I saw the two of them carrying armfuls of equipment into Mick’s quarters and the odd noises emerging from it have started resembling the banging and welding of metal. At least, Mick’s finally found something to keep himself occupied though the thought of what he could possibly be building in there does make me rather nervous.

Whatever Martin’s building must have hit a snag. The man’s gone from humming and singing to grumpily snapping at people. I offered to lend him a hand but he declined muttering something about energy warping effects which I couldn’t quite understand.

Jax’s railway continues to expand and now extends through the cargo bay. I know this for a fact because I tripped over it while I was looking for something down there.

The object which disappeared today, because of course something of mine went missing again, is my tablet, the one with remote access to all of Gideon’s databanks. I am getting simply fed up with all of these things going missing. I was about to confront a certain team member about this but then I found the tablet resting on a chair in the library though I could have sworn I never left it there. Maybe all this time in the temporal zone is starting to effect me as well.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420609_

I will not throw the team out the airlock.

I will not throw the team out the airlock.

I will not throw the team out the airlock.

.....

I know, Gideon. Good captains don’t throw their teams out of the airlock but if we’re stuck on the ship any longer, I will not be held responsible for what I may do. There’s putting up with the team’s antics on a normal basis and there’s putting up with them when they’re acting like this. They would try the patience of even the most even-tempered man which I most definitely am not.

The plants, at least, seem to have stopped growing but Ray has been going around looking so miserable and sullen I almost told him he could continue his experiments. I probably would have if I hadn’t found that one of Anthony’s tendrils had gotten into a conduit and curled around some vital bits of circuitry. I had to spend over an hour carefully cutting it away. If those plants grew any larger, there’s no knowing what damage they could do to the Waverider. I think it’s best there’s no more experiments even if it does mean Dr. Palmer's unhappy for awhile.

In other joyful new, the scarf Sara was knitting for me has now turned into a jumper, a large, baggy, purple jumper. At least, it’s supposed to be a jumper. I can’t say it looks much like one yet. Sara’s knitting skills have improved greatly since she first started but they’ve still yet to be perfected. Sara seems happy with it though. She says she very much looking forward to seeing me wear it.

Even more worrying is the fact the odd noises coming from Mick’s quarters are now being accompanied by an odd smell. I’m tempted to ask Gideon what’s going on in there but I promised the team they would have complete privacy in their quarters. Gideon would warn me if he was doing something that might endanger the ship anyway, or at least, I’m fairly sure she would warn me.

.....

Yes, I know you do, Gideon, but the two of us don’t always agree with what is and isn’t a danger to the ship.

.....

Anyway, Martin’s work must be going well once more as he’s back to humming and singing as he goes about the place. In light of Ray’s experiments, it would probably be best if I put an end to Martin’s as well but then I would have two miserable scientists on my hands.

Jax’s ever expanding railway has now reached the bridge. It even winds in and out of my study. I was attempting to work there earlier but it was nearly impossible as every ten minutes a miniature train would come chugging by. The work Jax has done on the railway is impressive, it covers almost the entire ship now, but I would enjoy it a lot more without the constant interruptions and if I hadn’t tripped over the tracks three more times.

Worst of all today, my revolver has gone missing. My revolver! I have no clue how it could have been taken without my knowing. I went to confront the obvious culprit with every intention of getting it back but when I found Snart, he was reading a book in Chinese. I was so astounded by this fact I completely forgot what I was doing there and simply left. I know the man is quite intelligent but this is more than a little unexpected and I suspect he’s messing with me.

In fact, I’m beginning to suspect the entire team is messing with me, that all of their shenanigans are part of some giant conspiracy to slowly drive me insane. Maybe when the time drive’s fixed, I could take them somewhere really nice like a funfair or some such, and then sneak away while they were distracted and leave them there.

.....

You’re right, Gideon. If I did try to do that, they’d probably just find out ahead of time and mutiny. Either that or build their own timeship and use it to track me down but I can still dream.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420610_

I am seriously reconsidering the possibility of ejecting the entire team out the airlock.

Today has been a complete disaster. It began first thing this morning when we woke up to find someone had killed Anthony, or rather, knocked his pot over on to the floor. ‘Killed’ was what Dr. Palmer called it. The pot had shattered and there was dirt and broken pottery shards everywhere. There’s actually still a possibility the plant might be saved. We repotted it but with so many of its tendrils broken and its roots damaged, it’s difficult to tell if it will survive.

Ray was understandably devastated but also enraged. Normally the very picture of amiableness, he went on the warpath interrogating everyone and accusing them of planticide. I had to intervene on numerous occasions in order to keep the peace. The whole thing, combined with the fact we've been confined together on this ship for far too long, has made everyone ill-tempered and people have been snapping at each other all day. The matter could have been easily solved if Gideon had simply told us who it was who did it, her cameras would have captured everything, but unfortunately, she’s refusing to say a word.

.....

Yes, I understand, Gideon.

.....

No, I’m not going to order you.

.....

You do know the fact you’re so willing to protect this person does give me a good idea of who the culprit might be?

.....

Well, if it is who I think it is, I’d rather he not face Ray’s wrath over what was most likely an accident, so it’s probably best you keep silent.

The incident did have one benefit, if it could be called a benefit. I now finally know what Mick has been up to in his quarters for the past week. Ray let it slip while he was interrogating him. It turns out Mr. Rory has been building his own distillery. A completely homemade contraption in order to brew his own alcohol as if the fabricator, and his frequent raids of my own personal stash, wasn’t providing him with enough.

Of course, everyone but me already knew about it. They were even planning a party to celebrate the drinking of the first bottle. I only got a chance to get a quick look at the thing, which is admittedly fairly impressive but that’s neither here nor there. A lot of work was obviously put into it but I’m still concerned about what sort of poisonous concoction it might produce and the effects it would have on the members of the team who drank it. Not to mention, the fact distilleries do occasionally explode!

Unfortunately, I know there’s little hope of convincing Mick to dismantle the thing. He seems to be quite proud of his beloved new still and I doubt he’ll let anyone get between him and it. Hopefully, a more thorough inspection of the thing can assuage my fears. I’m having Gideon keep an eye on the thing in the meantime just in case.

To add insult to injury, in the middle of all the upset over Anthony and the discovery of the still, I also happened to find that my coat had gone missing. This was the last straw. I’d had enough of my things being stolen so I headed over to the library to confront Snart on the matter and to tell him in no uncertain terms to keep his hands off my property.

This time I unbelievably found him reading a scroll written in Sanskrit but I was determined not to be deterred. I knew for a fact there was no way Snart could be able to read Sanskrit so I demanded he prove it. Unbelievably, the man simply smirked and began to read. He read it in English but when I asked Gideon, I myself unfortunately can not read Sanskrit, she said what he read matched what was written on the scroll.

I was, admittedly, dumbfounded.

I am fairly certain it was merely a trick of Snart’s, or at least somewhat certain, but before I could prove it, I was accosted by Sara who wanted me to try on the half finished jumper to see if it fit. Though I tried to deter her, she insisted and shoved the thing over my head before I could get away.

Embarrassingly, I got rather tangled up and while trying to extract myself, I, uh, managed to trip over Jax’s railway tracks once again, and since I was unable to break my fall due to the jumper pinning my arms, I, unfortunately, managed to break my nose.

Sara was fairly contrite about the whole affair but also I suspect secretly amused. Snart, in contrast, had no problem at all in showing his amusement. After I was, with the aid of the two of them, untangled from the jumper, I went to medbay to get my nose fixed. By the time Gideon was done and I had returned to my quarters, my coat was hanging off it’s hook on the wall as if it had never gone missing!

I don’t think I can survive another day like this, stuck on the ship with this team as they slowly grow more and more insane. Maybe I’ve been thinking about this all wrong. Maybe instead of throwing the team out the airlock, I should just throw myself out, or maybe I should barricade myself in my quarters until the time drive is finally fixed and we can go somewhere where the team can spend some much needed time apart.

The only one who hasn’t managed to get on my nerves today is Martin. He’s been in the lab all day fervently working on that little project of his. In fact, it’s been quite awhile since I last saw him. Gideon detected some odd energy readings emitting from there earlier. Maybe I should...

.....

What the hell was that?

.....

Gideon?

.....

Gideon?

.....

Oh, bollocks.

_End of Log_

 

_Ship’s Log, Relative Linear Date WR1420611_

The good news is that the time drive is once more fully functional.

The bad news is that it will take another two weeks to fix all the damage the botanical cyborg monster did to the ship.

No, I am not joking.

Why, oh, why does this sort of thing always happen with this team? Why can’t they just leave things alone? You’d think that trapped on a timeship in the middle of the temporal zone we’d be safe, but no, when the team can’t attract trouble, they somehow manage to generate their own.

I’m still not entirely sure how the monster was created. It had something to do with the odd energy Martin was experimenting with in the lab. Apparently, it somehow managed to travel along the railway tracks Jax had laid around the ship and infect both Mick’s distillery and the remains of Anthony, Ray’s beloved plant. Some sort of mutation took place and before we knew it, a part model railway, part homemade distillery, part devil’s ivy monster was rampaging through the ship.

No one was hurt, thank God, though it was a close thing on my part. The monster seemed to take a particular dislike to me and I was almost strangled to death by ivy but the team came to my rescue. Everyone fought admirably, once they’d gotten over the shock of seeing the thing and stopped making jokes about it, but it took the combined forces of the entire team to take it down.

The damage it made was extensive leaving the ship a complete mess. The only good thing being that the jumper Sara was making for me was destroyed in the ensuing chaos. Hopefully, she won’t try to make me another.

The team were actually in quite good spirits after the battle. It seemed like they'd finally let go of the tension of the past two weeks.

Only this team would enjoy fighting a botanical cyborg.

Only this team would manage to accidentally create one in the first place.

With the time drive now functional, I am planning to immediately jump us to 2017. Once there, I intend to kick every single member of this team off the Waverider. Call it a little enforced vacation time. They can hang out with their family and friends, visit Mr. Allen’s and Mr. Queen’s teams if they feel the need for more excitement. Maybe then I can finally have some peace and quiet as I get the ship back in working order.

I don’t want to see even a glimpse of them for the next two weeks.

.....

Sorry, what was that, Gideon?

.....

Are you seriously suggesting I’ll miss them?

.....

We are talking about the same people, aren't we? The ones who thrive on chaos and conflict, the ones whose simple hobbies almost led to the complete destruction of the ship, the ones who have managed to get on my nerves almost every day for the entirety of the past two weeks?

.....

Well, yes, I suppose it would have been rather dull being trapped in the temporal zone without them.

......

Of course, I care. I just...

......

I complain about them a lot because there’s a lot to complain about but I suppose it’s true. Though they are unruly, they are some of the most brilliant people I’ve ever known, not to mention brave, and no matter how often they butt heads they always manage to come through for each other. I’m not sure what I do without them.

.....

Best not to mention any of that to them though. They’re insufferable enough as it is.

In fact, Gideon, erase all of that last bit just in case.

_End of Log_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working my way slowly through the ever increasing list. Thanks for all your support!
> 
> The List:  
> \- All I Really Need  
> \- A Few Comforts from Home  
> \- Good Morning, Waverider  
> \- Poor Sick Time Dad  
> \- Hide and Seek  
> \- Work and Play  
> \- The Answer is No  
> \- Role Reversal


	27. Time for Work and Time for Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, sorry, sorry. I have so many fics I want to write and never enough time.

_According to local tales told by natives of the region, the colonists settled near the shore on the southeast side of the island though when exactly that was is still up to debate. One tale however states it was two years after the ocean rose up and wrought destruction across the nearby shore and geological records show..._

A piece of popcorn landed in the middle of Rip’s book. He stared at it a moment and then letting out an exasperated sigh, flicked it off and on to the floor before resuming his reading.

_...geological records show a tsunami struck the island in 1587 which would seem to indicate the colonists arrived in 1589. However, it’s entirely possible..._

Another piece of popcorn jumped across the page. Rip grit his teeth, tightened his grip on the book, and continued reading refusing to give in to the desire to raise his head and search for the culprit.

_....it’s entirely possible the destruction they are referring to was in fact caused by a hurricane which are not uncommon in the region. If that were the case then..._

This time the piece of popcorn flew right by Rip’s face only an inch from his nose causing him to flinch backward.

That was the final straw.

Looking up, Rip glared at the other occupants of the room. “Do you mind?”

Five out of six heads lifted up to meet his gaze, eyes blinking innocently at him. The sixth head let out a loud snore.

The Waverider’s library was surprisingly crowded that day, mainly due to the fact that for some inexplicable reason every single member of the team happened to be there. They were inbetween missions and Rip had given the team permission to do whatever they felt like with their downtime. He himself had decided to use it to research a possible time aberration in the 16th century. He had thought he’d have the library to himself. He had thought he would be in for a quiet, peaceful afternoon, but shortly after he’d settled down at his desk, the rest of the Legends had begun trickling in one by one.

“Mind what?” asked Sara, raising her eyebrows. Her innocent look was marred by the gleam of mischief in her eyes. She was sitting cross-legged on the floor, her knives spread out in a fan in front of her as she went through them one by one sharpening the blades. As Rip watched, she put down the knife she was currently working on, and reaching over to a nearby bowl, grabbed a handful of popcorn which she tossed into her mouth.

“I don’t mind,” said Snart. He was sitting on the floor across from Sara but instead of knives laid out in front of him, there were cards. He was halfway through a game of solitaire due to his usual playing partner being otherwise occupied. Reaching over, he too grabbed some popcorn. He popped a couple into his mouth before passing some over his shoulder to the man seated in the chair behind him. “Do you mind, Mick?”

“I don’t give a shit,” Mick replied and shoved the popcorn into his mouth washing them down with a swig of beer. He was lounging sideways in the leather armchair, body leaning against one arm rest, legs dangling over the other. He didn’t seem to be doing much of anything other than drinking. Half a six-pack sat on the floor beside him.

“I mind,” said Rip, sharply. “I’m trying to do some research.”

“Me too,” Ray pipped up. He was seated at the table in the corner of the room close to Mick. Various objects covered the table including, Rip was pleased to note, several books.

“You’re reading a comic,” Mick said, bluntly.

Frowning, Rip craned his neck and caught sight of the colourful pages hidden behind all the books. He supposed it was too much to hope that someone else was actually lending a hand.

Ray flushed slightly. “Well, we’re superheroes and this comic is about superheroes therefore it might contain important information therefore research. Q.E.D.”

“Didn’t you use the same excuse for the movie we watched last night?” asked Jax. He, at least, was working. He had taken over the large screens at the front of the room and was using them to plan out the bridge redesign.

He was also eating a sandwich at the exact same time. As Rip watched, Jax readjusted one of the windows displayed on the screen with his right hand and then took a bite out of the sandwich held in his left.

“It happens to be a very good excuse,” said Ray, defensively. “Also very useful.”

“You’re doing as much research as Grey,” Jax said, his mouth half-full of sandwich, waving at the older man seated at the other end of the room.

Martin was sitting in another of the leather armchairs and reading, or he had been reading before he’d fallen asleep. Now his book was sprawled across his lap, his head was tilted back, and his mouth was hanging open as he let out another loud snore.

“Well, if everyone could behave so those of us who are working aren’t disturbed, I would greatly appreciate it,” said Rip.

There were nods and murmurs of agreement.

Rip gave them one final glare in an effort to drive his words home and then returned to his book.

_Of course, of much more interest than the colonists' arrival is their subsequent disappearance. Though other colonies may have failed due to starvation, disease, or attacks from resident natives, these colonists seem to have..._

Several pieces of popcorn flew at the desk, one landing in the middle of Rip’s book, another bouncing off his shoulder.

Rip closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly let it out.

“For the record, I do not consider the throwing of popcorn as behaving,” he said without looking up.

There were several sniggers in response but Rip chose to ignore them.

_...these colonists seem to have completely vanished overnight without any certain cause. There are several tales surrounding their disappearance but the tales are so strange most are believed to be apocryphal. Some include mentions of lights streaking across the sky accompanied by an odd rumbling noise..._

Miraculously after that, it grew quiet and for awhile Rip was actually able to get some work done. He made progress in his book, took several notes, and cross-referenced things with Gideon’s database.

The peace, however, didn’t last long.

It started with an idle hum, or more precisely, with someone idly humming. It seemed a pleasant enough tune to Rip and a slightly familiar one though he couldn’t quite recall where he’d heard it before. He wasn’t too bothered by the noise but apparently he was the only one.

“Quit it, Raymond,” Snart snapped.

“Huh?” said Ray, confused.

“You were humming,” said Sara, sounding just as pleased about it as Snart.

“I was?” said Ray.

“You were,” chorused Sara, Snart, Mick, and Jax.

“Oh, sorry.”

It was quiet for a couple minutes and then the humming started up once more.

“You’re doing it again,” said Sara.

“Oops,” Ray said, sheepishly. “I didn’t realize...”

“Just stop it.”

“Yeah,” agreed Mick. “If you don’t want a haircut, Haircut, shut it.”

“Right.”

Another couple minutes of silence passed and it began again.

There was a groan from Jax. “Dude, could you at least change the tune?”

“Sorry,” said Ray. “It’s just I’ve got this song stuck in my head.”

“Well, don’t stick it in ours,” said Sara. “I swear if you start humming again, it won’t be Mick giving you the haircut it will be me and I’d hate for the scissors to accidentally slip.”

Ray nervously cleared his throat. “Right.”

A few minutes passed in tense silence, and few more, and a few more, and then...

“Hmm hmm hmmm...”

Schwoosh! Thunk!

“Hey!” Ray cried. “Rip, Sara’s throwing knives at me!”

Rip rubbed his forehead tiredly. He really didn’t want to be drawn into this. “Miss Lance, please refrain from throwing knives at fellow teammates.”

Sara huffed. “Tell Ray to stop humming then.”

Rip sighed but obediently added, “Dr. Palmer, if you could please do your best to refrain from humming, thank you.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Rip caught Sara sticking her tongue out at Ray and Ray doing likewise.

Rip rolled his eyes. How old were these people again? He was sure they’d all been adults when he’d recruited them, four of them were even supposed to be older than him. Maybe they’d gone through some sort of time storm and they’d all been mentally regressed in age when he wasn’t looking. Unlikely but possible.

Several accounts mention animals and birds acting oddly the same night the colonists disappeared. Birds flew around even after dark, local rodents actively climbed up and down trees, and it was even said that an army of snakes was seen slithering across the forest floor in the direction of...

“Hey, who took my other sandwich?” Jax demanded interrupting Rip’s reading once again.

“Not me,” chorused the rest of the team, except for Martin who just gave another snore.

“Come on, guys,” said Jax. “One of you must have took it.

“Have you asked the Professor?” Snart suggested. “Maybe he ate it.”

“He’s asleep,” Jax replied, unimpressed.

“He could have accidentally inhaled it while snoring,” said Snart, completely straight-faced.

“Ha, ha. Very funny.”

“Maybe there never was another sandwich,” suggested Sara. “Maybe you just imagined there was.”

“I know there was another sandwich because I made another sandwich because I was that hungry,” said Jax, at the limits of his temper.

The conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud, and somewhat disturbing, burp from Mick.

“Oh, I see how it is,” said Jax.

“What?” said Mick, innocently.

“You owe me a sandwich.”

“Just ‘cause a guy burped?”

“It might also be because you’re the one who’s always shoving food into his face and therefore the most likely suspect,” Ray pointed out.

“Exactly,” Jax agreed.

Mick snorted. “Even if I did eat your sandwich and I’m not saying I did, there’s no way in hell I’m making you another.”

“Fine, then I’ll just take the popcorn.” Jax grabbed the popcorn bowl from off the floor.

Several cries of protest went up.

“Give that back,” Mick growled.

“Nu uh,” said Jax. “The popcorn’s mine now.”

“Englishman,” Mick said, much to Rip’s surprise and annoyance, “you’d better make him give it back before I make him.”

Jax was quick to counter. “Rip, tell him I’m not giving the popcorn back until I get another sandwich.”

Rip pinched the bridge of his nose. “Jax, please give them back the popcorn and Mick...” He looked up meeting the man’s fiery gaze. “At least, give him a beer or something.”

Mick continued to stare at Rip for several moments, and then he shrugged, reached down to grab an unopened beer from his six-pack, and held it out to Jax. “Beer?”

Jax raised his eyebrows, thought about it, and then seeming suitably satisfied, nodded. “Sure,” he said and after returning the bowl of popcorn to its spot on the floor, grabbed the beer.

Rip breathed a sigh of relief. I thought I signed on to be this team’s captain not their den mother, he grumbled to himself as he returned to his research.

_One tale tells of a mysterious group of attackers with powerful weapons of light who may have contributed to the colonists’ disappearance. It was said that an indestructible man with silver skin fought them off saving several of the natives. This is most likely a mistranslation, the word for skin becoming mixed up with the one for armour..._

Powerful weapons of light? Time Pirates? Rip wondered. It was possible the tale really was apocryphal but...

A sudden noise put an end to his contemplations.

Thwap!

“Hey!” cried Snart. “What was that for?”

Rip looked up to see Sara glaring at Snart and Snart glaring back as he rubbed his knee.

“Give it back,” Sara demanded.

“Give what back?” said Snart.

Sara gave him a look. “My knife. I had fourteen when I sat down and now I only have thirteen.”

Snart gestured over at the table in the corner of the room. “Did you count the one you threw at Raymond?”

“Yes, I counted that one. I was going to fetch it later.”

“No, you’re not,” Ray called out. “This knife’s mine now.”

Sara hefted another knife in her hand and aimed it at Ray. “Do you want another?”

Grimacing, Ray pulled the knife out of the table and tossed it back to Sara.

Sara picked up the knife and placed it with the others. “See, thirteen. So hand it over.”

“What makes you think I have it?” Snart said with a smirk.

Sara raised an eyebrow. “Are we seriously going to play this game?”

Snart shook his head, a look of mock sadness on his face. “Why do people always blame the thief every time something goes missing?”

“Because around here it’s usually justified,” countered Sara.

“Well, I’m offended,” Snart said and he let out a huff. “I have nothing to do with your missing knife.”

Sara stared at him a good long while. “Fine,” she said, suddenly sounding a bit too accepting of the situation. “Then I suppose I’ll just let you get back to your game. Good luck with that.”

Snart narrowed his eyes gazing suspiciously at her and then looking down at his cards. After studying them a moment or two, he quickly swept them up into his hands and began counting. He scowled when he was done.

“Alright, Assassin. Give them back.”

“Missing something, Crook?” Sara said with a smug grin.

“Very funny,” Snart replied, sarcastically. “I only have 50 cards. Where’s the other two?”

Batting here eyelids innocently, Sara repeated Snart’s words back to him. “What makes you think I have them?”

Tension filled the room as the two locked gazes, neither willing to back down, and then at the exact same moment they both cried, “Rip!”

“No, no, no, no,” said Rip, shaking his head. “You are not dragging me into this. Why do you people keep insisting on dragging me into these things?”

Unfortunately, his protests were ignored.

“Tell Snart to give my knife back,” said Sara.

“Tell Sara to give me back my cards,” said Snart.

Rip let out a long weary sigh. “Fine. Snart, give Sara back her knife. Sara, give Snart back his cards.”

“Or what?’ was Snart’s immediate response.

“Or,” said Rip, only just keeping control of his temper, “I’ll tell Gideon to serve you nothing but porridge for the next week.”

Both Sara and Snart scowled but they pulled out the stolen items and quickly exchanged them.

Clearly they’d all been spending too much time on the ship together, thought Rip. Maybe they needed a vacation. He could always drop them off somewhere and come back for them later, or not come back for them, something which was becoming more and more tempting as the day continued.

Checking to see if it was safe to continue his research, Rip gave the room a quick once over. Sara and Snart were both back to their respective tasks though doing them a touch more grumpily than before. Jax was absorbed in the blueprint of the new bridge design. Ray was absorbed in his comic book. Martin was still snoring, his head tilted to the side, his glasses threatening to fall off his face. Mick looked like he was about to fall asleep too, his now empty beer bottles clustered around the base of his chair.

Satisfied the team were peacefully occupied once more, Rip turned back to his book.

_Accompanying the man with the metal skin was said to be a god of ice and two gods of fire, one of which could fly. This part is clearly made up most likely in an attempt to describe some unusual weather phenomena which must have occurred at the time, even possibly the landing of a meteorite..._

Click! Woosh!

“Rip,” Ray cried, “Mick’s trying to set his chair on fire.”

Rip grit his teeth but refused to look up from his book. “Mr. Rory, please refrain from setting fire to the furniture.”

_...even the landing of a meteorite which would match up with the lights observed in the sky though no evidence of any crater has ever been found. Given the thick foliage of the region, it’s entirely possible one has yet to be discovered. The gods, along with the man with the metal skin, were..._

“Rip,” Ray cried again, “Mick’s trying to set fire to the books.”

Rip resisted the urge to bang his head against his deck. “Mr. Rory, please refrain from setting fire to any of the objects in this room,” he said, still not looking up. “Or the people,” he quickly added just in case.

_...The gods, along with the man with the metal skin, were commanded by a priestess dressed entirely in white, a woman of enormous beauty and power. The group was said to have rousted the mysterious attackers but also caused insurmountable chaos throughout the entire island including bringing down trees, causing rock slides, setting fire to huts..._

This time it was Jax who interrupted Rip’s reading. “Rip, Sara’s carving her name into the floor.”

“Sara, stop trying to put your mark on everything,” Rip said, tiredly. “You know Gideon doesn’t like it.”

_...setting fire to huts, and enchanting several of the natives before they vanished forever. Mentioned in this tale was also an invisible temple which appeared and disappeared on the same night. It was said that several natives..._

“Rip, Snart’s planning to take over the world again,” Sara called out, sounding more amused than concerned.

Rip scowled. “Mr. Snart, how many times do I have to tell you. We are not using the Waverider for world domination.”

“Party pooper,” Snart grumbled.

_... several natives discovered this temple and were attempting to get inside when a door opened appearing in midair. When the natives entered, they found the interior of the temple to be made of metal and filled with light. As they explored its winding corridors, they...._

“Rip!” Snart cried. “Ray’s turning into an iguana.”

“I am not,” Ray protested.

“Fine,” said Snart. “Rip, Martin’s trying to break the laws of physics and blow us all up.”

“He’s alseep,” Jax reminded him, again.

“As if that would stop him,” Snart countered.

Earplugs, thought Rip. Maybe he should have Gideon fabricate a good pair of earplugs. That would solve half his problems.

_...As they explored its winding corridors, they eventually came to a large chamber with an altar at its centre. A giant blue head appeared above the altar..._

“Rip,” Mick called out. “Jax is watching a porno.”

Shocked, Rip looked up but saw nothing but schematics on the screen in front of Jax.

Jax rolled his eyes.

Mick just smirked. “Made you look.”

Earplugs and a few miles of heavy chain with which to tie up the Legends, Rip decided as he turned back to his book.

_...A giant blue head appeared above the altar and commanded them to leave. Terrified, they fled. When a few brave souls returned the next day the invisible temple was gone. To this day, a monument exists on the spot the temple appeared._

Rip stopped reading, the creases on his forehead deepening. Invisible temple. Metal interior. Giant blue head. That almost sounded like...

“Hey!” Sara cried out suddenly.

“Watch it!” put in Snart. “That was our popcorn.”

“Oops,” said Jax, sheepishly. “Sorry, guys. I didn’t mean to knock it over.”

“You’ll pay for that,” Sara growled.

There was a yelp from Jax followed by the loud thud of something large hitting the ground.

Snart made clicking noises with his tongue. “Now you’re in for it.”

“I said I was sorry,” Jax protested.

“Too late,” said Sara, evilly.

Jax gave another high pitched yelp followed by a shout of “No tickling! No tickling!”

Sara only cackled in reply.

Jax gasped and then began to howl with laughter.

“Jax!” Ray called out in alarm. “Mick, are you going to let them treat him like that?”

“You’re right,” said Mick. “I should do something. Give me that.”

“Hey, that’s my comic!” Ray cried.

Thwap! Thwap! Thwap!

“Mick!” yelled Snart.

“My comic!” yelled Ray.

Sara just cackled some more as Jax continued to giggle uncontrollably.

“If that’s how you want to play it,” said Snart.

There was some scuffling noises and several thumps.

“Wait, give me back my comic first!” said Ray.

More scuffling followed along with a number of cries and yelps.

A large crash resounded throughout the library as something hit the floor and shattered.

“My word!” cried the suddenly very awake Martin.

Letting out a noise that was half groan and half sob, Rip closed the book he’d been trying to read and tossed it over his shoulder.

“I give up,” he declared dropping his head down onto his desk.

In front of him, the sounds of a five person wrestling match continued punctuated by Martin’s scolding. Cries and laughter came from the group as things that got in their way thudded and crashed around them.

Rip let out another groan.

“Rip! Rip!” Sara called out from the middle of the group. “Mick’s trying to kill me!”

Wearily, Rip lifted his head back up. “Mr. Rory, If you get any blood on the carpet, you’re the one who’s going to have to clean it up.”

This time the popcorn hit Rip right between the eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next will probably be Poor Sick Time Dad but there's other things I'm working on which will probably come first.
> 
> Also, I put this in the notes for another fic of mine but in case you missed it, I like you to know that I've started a thing or at least I'm trying to start a thing. Because it can be hard to find Rip-centric fanfics on AO3, from now on I'm tagging all my fics which have Rip as a central character or one of the central characters as 'RipFic' and I've already managed to convince many other lovely authors to join me. So if you write or have already written a fic where Rip plays a significant role and features a lot in the story, please tag your fic as 'RipFic'. If you're just a reader, feel free to use the tag to find more amazing fanfics about Rip!


	28. Dessert of the Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short thing to tide people over until I can manage to write more.

“Hey, Rip. Do you like custard?”

Rip, who had been sitting on the couch in his quarters doing some rare leisurely reading, looked up from his book to gaze at Ray. The man was standing at the entrance to Rip’s quarters and already the captain was starting to wonder if leaving the door open had been such a good idea. 

“Do I like custard?” he repeated slowly.

It seemed like such an innocent question, but when accompanied by Ray’s nervous grin and shifting feet, it came across as more than a little suspicious, and frankly, Rip had lived with the Legends long enough to know that when it came to them, there was no such thing as a truly innocent question. 

“Yeah, you know, custard,” said Ray, his nervous grin growing larger. “The sweet, yellow, pudding stuff?”

“I’ve been known to enjoy a trifle on occasion,” Rip admitted. “Dare I ask why the sudden interest in my culinary tastes?”

Ray cleared his throat. “Well, we, uh, made a bit more than we meant to and we thought you might like some.”

Rip raised a dubious eyebrow. The offer seemed genuine but something was still making him suspicious.

Just then Mick appeared behind Ray with a large mixing bowl in his arms, a mixing bowl full of custard.

“Good custard, Haircut,” said Mick, slapping Ray rather forcefully on the back before proceeding on down the corridor, shovelling the stuff into his mouth with a large spoon as he went.

“And Mr. Rory hasn’t eaten it all?” Rip said dryly, rolling his eyes. 

“Oh, no,” said Ray. “We’ve got more. Really. We made lots, lots and lots.”

Rip gazed at Ray in consideration. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe it really had been an innocent question and Ray was simply offering him some dessert. Some custard actually might be quite nice and there was nothing wrong with indulging his sweet tooth once an awhile.

He opened his mouth to agree to some but then a thought suddenly occurred to him and his forehead furrowed.

“Did you use the food fabricator?” he asked.

Ray nodded.

“But I thought it was still acting up.”

“It was,” said Ray.

Rip raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You fixed it? But it needs a new quantum crystal. It won’t function properly without it. I’ve been meaning to make a trip to pick some up but...”

“We keep getting distracted?” Ray finished for him. “I know. It seems like we never get a break these days. First we had to restart the French Revolution, then we had to save that really ungrateful emperor in China, then there was that whole thing in Australia with all the emus...”

“Ray,” Rip said, tiredly. “I am aware of what we’ve been up to recently. Could you please get to the point.”

“Right. Yes. Well, the food’s been pretty inedible recently and Jax and I got to talking and we came up with a way to fix the fabricator without needing a new quantum crystal.” Ray finished off his pronouncement with another grin.

“That’s marvellous,” said Rip, actually impressed. It seemed his initial interpretation of the situation had been wrong after all. “So it’s working then?”

Ray’s grin faltered. “Sort of. You see...”

“It’s all Ray’s fault!”

Jax appeared in the doorway, an angry scowl on his face aimed directly at Ray. 

Rip sighed. He knew it had been too good to be true. So much for dessert.

Ray immediately went on the defensive. “How is it my fault?”

“You mixed up the settings,” accused Jax.

“Well, you approved them.”

“Well, you must have put them in wrong.”

“How do we know it wasn’t your jury-rigging that was wrong?”

“Because my jury-rigging always works.”

As the two continued to argue, Rip couldn’t help noticing the splatters of yellow decorating Jax’s shirt and hands and looking more closely he saw similar though somewhat smaller splatters covering Ray as well.

He let out a groan, all his misgivings returning in full force.

“...and if you hadn’t done that then maybe Gideon would still be speaking to us,” Ray was saying.

“Oh, no,” replied Jax, shaking his head. “It’s not my fault she’s sulking. That’s all on you.”

“Wait.” Rip held up his hands bringing the argument to a halt. “What do you mean Gideon is sulking? Gideon does not sulk.”

Both Jax and Ray immediately looked guilty.

Rip glared at them. “What did you do?” 

“Well, you see,” Jax began hesitantly, “Gideon didn’t exactly agree with ours plans to fix the food fabricator.”

“But we did it anyway,” Ray put in, “and now she won’t talk to us.”

Rip rubbed a hand across his forehead. As if it wasn’t bad enough with the team squabbling among themselves all the time, now they were dragging his A.I. into things too.

“Gideon,” he called out.

There was no reply.

“Gideon,” Rip tried again. “Would you please stop... sulking.” He added the last somewhat reluctantly.

“I am not sulking,” the A.I. replied though the petulance in her tone seemed to suggest otherwise.

“Well, it certainly sounds like you are,” said Rip. “I understand why you’re angry but could you please end the silent treatment. After all, Ray and Jax were only trying to help.”

Gideon’s tone remained reproachful. “I will only speak to them once the mess has been cleaned up.”

Rip frowned. “Mess? What mess?”

Jax and Ray looked even more guilty but before they could say anything a loud cry came from down the corridor.

“What in the name of heaven!”

Jax winced. “I think Grey just found out.”

The sound of stomping footsteps neared and a furious Martin soon arrived. He too was covered in yellow splatters though these ones were mainly on his shoes and trousers.

“Would either of you care to explain what has happened to the food fabricator?” he demanded.

“We, uh, fixed it?” said Ray, uncertainly.

“Yes, I can see that,” Martin replied placing his hands on his hips, “and now you’ve got it working again maybe you could try turning it off.”

Ray’s eyes widened. “But we did turn it off.” He turned to Jax. “Didn’t we?”

“It was off when I left,” said Jax.

“Well, it isn’t now,” said Martin, “and I don’t know about you but there is only so much custard I can eat. I would suggest finding a way to turn it off permanently before we drown in the stuff.”

Ray and Jax made a mad dash down the corridor, Martin trailing after them and grumbling to himself.

Rip placed his head in his hands. 

“Gideon?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Do I really want to know what’s going on?”

“I would advice against it,” the A.I. replied. “I do not believe it would be beneficial to your blood pressure.”

The door to Rip’s quarters was still open and through it he could hear much yelling coming from the direction of the galley.

“You’re probably right,” he agreed.

A new voice was soon added to the cacophany. “What the hell!” was Sara’s distant cry. It was followed by the rare and somewhat bizarre sound of her laughter.

Rip looked up in surprise.

A few seconds later, she appeared in his doorway, a mischievous glint in her eyes and two pounds of custard in her hands.

“Hey, Rip. Do you like custard?”


	29. Poor Sick Time Dad Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know. I know. I'm sorry for taking so long to continue this. I got caught up in other things. This is part 1 of who knows how many parts involving a poor sick Rip having to put up with the Legends' attempts to look after him.

It started with a dry scratchiness at the back of Rip’s throat.

More precisely it started April 19, 1904 in Canada where the Legends were dealing with some irksome time pirates. The pirates were stopped and the timeline restored but not until after Mick had the honour of starting the second Great Fire of Toronto and Rip had the honour of falling into Lake Ontario in -4º weather.

Thankfully, Rip was fished out of the lake fairly quickly, freezing cold but feeling more embarrassed about the time pirate getting the jump on him than anything else. He immediately returned to the ship to get dried up and Gideon checked him over thoroughly—she refused to let him leave the ship again until she had—but despite the ice bath, he was declared to be in good health.

And he was in good health. He was perfectly fine, but then he woke up the next morning with that scratchiness in his throat.

He ignored it at first. The sensation was annoying, but he had been through infinitely worse so he got on with his day, which meant, as there was never any end to the things that needed taking care of, dealing with a particularly tricky aberration during the Mexican Revolution. The Legends dealt with it with only a minimal amount of explosions and Rip was able to do his part, but his throat grew increasingly sore throughout the day and he felt more worn out than usual by the end. Assuming he had simply been overdoing things recently, he decided go to bed early, much to the surprise of Gideon and the Waverider’s entire crew.

The following morning however...

“Captain, it's time to wake up.”

Rip’s eyes slowly slid open, squinted against the lights Gideon had helpfully turned on, and then closed shut once more as their owner let out a tired groan.

“What...” His voice was low and scratchy. Rip swallowed and winced at the pain in his throat. “What time is it?”

“It’s 0700 hours,” said Gideon. “You did request your usual wake-up call.”

“Yes but...” 

It couldn’t possibly be 0700, thought Rip. It didn’t feel like he had slept at all. He was even more tired than when he had gone to bed the night before. Maybe he had slept too much. Maybe that was why he was so tired. It wasn’t just tiredness though. His entire body felt leaden and the ache in his throat now seemed to be radiating all the way through his chest and head.

Rip rubbed his hands over his face and gave another groan.

“Captain?” There was a touch of concern in the A.I.’s tone.

“I’m up. I’m up,” Rip replied. He didn’t want Gideon getting any ideas and using some of her more creative methods for dealing with those who were too slow getting out of bed. Gideon was very good at getting people out of bed when they didn’t want to, not that she used them on Rip very often. Usually, it was Mr. Jackson or Mr. Rory who needed the little extra coaxing out from underneath the covers. 

Ignoring his protesting muscles, Rip pushed himself up and swung his legs over until he was on the edge of his bed. The world lurched slightly as he did so and he was forced to brace himself so he didn’t fall back down. He spent several moments sitting there as he came to terms with how much worse he now felt.

“Captain, are you alright?” asked Gideon, making Rip realize he’d perhaps been siting there a tad too long.

“I’m fine, Gideon,” he said. 

The reply was automatic but it was true. He was fine. He was just tired.

Rip rubbed his eyes again.

Very tired.

Maybe he had been overdoing it lately. Maybe he needed to take a break or even a vacation. The moment the idea crossed his mind he dismissed it. It was, after all, ridiculous. He didn’t have time for a vacation. There were aberrations to correct. Time pirates to thwart. Legends to wrangle. Time off was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

What the hell would he even do on a vacation anyway?

Besides, he thought as he dragged himself to his feet and began to stagger towards the bathroom, what he really needed was probably some breakfast. Had he even ate dinner last night? He couldn’t remember. He bet after he had a shower, breakfast, and a cup of tea, he would be back to normal.

The warm water cascading down his body soothed his aching muscles and did make him feel better though not as much as he would have liked.

After exiting the shower, he got dressed, slowly putting on his usual outfit, dark jeans and a grey t-shirt. He was feeling a bit cold so he added his brown leather jacket too. Perhaps he got dressed a bit too slowly though because something triggered Gideon to ask after his health once again.

“Are you sure you’re alright?

“I’m fine,” Rip insisted tersely. The lousiness he was feeling was definitely not leaving him in the best of moods. “Stop nagging.”

“Nagging?” There was an icy edge to her tone.

Rip winced. He had forgotten how much she hated that word.

“I know you’re concerned but really I am fine.”

There was no response from Gideon. Rip hoped that meant she was going to drop the subject and she forgave him. He was counting on his breakfast being edible that morning.

Still feeling lousy but pushing on, he made his way towards the galley. Noise and chatter greeted him as he neared. Usually, he was one of the first there, but it sounded as if the whole team was already up and eating. He must have taken longer to get ready than he’d thought.

“Good morning,” he muttered as he entered. 

A number of ‘morning’s greeted him in reply, many made around mouthfuls of food.

Ignoring the usual breakfast chaos, Rip headed straight for the cupboard containing his tea. The motions of brewing a cup were so ingrained he didn’t have to think about them which was good because his mind was currently feeling as sluggish as the rest of him. 

Behind him he heard a fight break out over the last pancake and he noticed the smell of bacon burning. Mr. Rory must be cooking he realized absently. Charred food was not really to Rip’s taste and he felt more like something simple and comforting that morning, so he reached down a box of cereal from one of the cupboards and began to search for a bowl. 

There was none, or at least, no clean ones. He opened the dishwasher and groaned when he saw it was full of dirty dishes.

“Whose turn was it to do the dishes last night?” he demanded turning around to glare at the Legends.

The team gazed innocently back at him.

Rip raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Well?”

A mischievous twinkle in her eye, Sara pointed a finger at Snart who was seated beside her.

Snart rolled his eyes and pointed over his shoulder to the stove where Mick was still working.

Mick gave a snort and levelled a spatula at Ray who was across the table from Sara and Snart.

Ray shook his head earnestly and quickly pointed beside him at Jax.

“Oh, no,” said Jax. He jerked his thumb in Martin’s direction.

Martin, who had seated himself at a separate table most likely in search of some peace and quiet, looked up from his grapefruit and gazed at everyone in confusion. “Sorry, what?”

Rip let out a weary sigh. “Never mind.”

Grabbing a bowl, Rip washed it in the sink and quickly dried it. He then opened up the box of Honey Nut Corn Flakes and tipped it over towards the bowl.

Nothing came out.

Rip shook the box and peered inside. It was empty.

The cardboard box bent inward as Rip’s fingers tightened around it. He took a slow, deliberate breath. “Who put an empty cereal box back in the cupboard?” he asked, the strain audible in his voice despite his efforts to remain calm.

He turned to look at the Legends again. They once more proved unhelpful, but this time Rip had a good idea who the culprit was. His eyes narrowed at Mr. Rory.

“What?” Mick said with a shrug. “I was hungry last night so I had a snack.”

“And you put the empty box back in the cupboard when you were done?”

“’S not like I left it on the counter.”

“You...” Rip began, voice rising but a stab of pain from his throat made him reconsider. He swallowed grimacing. “Forget it.” He was too tired for this.

“What no lecture?” said Mick in surprise. He sounded almost disappointed.

“Yeah, you feeling okay there, Rip?” asked Snart.

“I’m fine,” Rip snapped.

He put the empty box in the waste recycler and got out a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Thankfully, this box was still half-full. When he was done pouring it into his bowl, he went in search of milk. The fridge proved annoyingly empty. Someone had apparently finished off the milk and failed to fabricate more. He debated asking who had done so, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t have any more luck than the other two times.

Rip went over to the food fabricator and keyed in milk. No milk appeared. Instead, the fabricator made an odd noise and several lights that shouldn’t have been flashing flashed at him.

“Gideon, what’s wrong with the fabricator?” he asked, hoping she wasn’t still angry at him about the ‘nagging’ comment.

“I am afraid the fabricator’s sensors are currently out of alignment,” the A.I. replied.

Rip’s forehead furrowed. “How the hell did that happen?”

A nervous “Uhhhh...” came from behind to him.

Rip gazed over at Ray who was wincing sheepishly and growing increasingly pink. “Was there something, Dr. Palmer?”

“I might have messed things up a bit when I tried to recalibrate the fabricator yesterday,” Ray admitted reluctantly. “You see I really wanted Jello, but the Jello the fabricator was making didn’t taste like real Jello, so I thought if I just tweaked things a bit...” He winced again. “Jax has promised he’ll try and fix it later.”

Jax, who had been digging into a pancake, nodded. “I’ll get right on it, as soon as I’ve finished the maintenance on the life support systems. Oh, and fixed the glitch in the port thruster.” He swallowed a bite of pancake and added, “And retuned the cloaking device.”

“So the fabricator isn’t working at all?” said Rip in disbelief, his heart sinking. If necessary he could fix it himself, but that would mean delaying his breakfast for an hour or more.

Ray shook his head sadly.

Groaning, Rip leaned forward and rested his head against the fabricator, resisting the urge to bang his head against it. 

All he had wanted was a bowl of cereal. Was that too much to ask?

“Uh, you alright, Rip?” asked Sara, half concerned, half amused.

“I think we broke him,” observed Snart.

“I’m fine,” Rip said without lifting his head from the fabricator. He was starting to think he should have stayed in bed.

Straightening up, Rip grabbed his tea and the bowl of dry cereal, and went to sit down at the table where another squabble had just broken out. This time it was about who had used up the last of the maple syrup. Rip sipped his tea and did his best to ignore it. 

He normally would have preferred to sit at the much quieter table with Martin or even taken his breakfast to his office so he could eat alone, but he needed to talk to the team before they started their day and this was the easiest way to catch them all. Calling everyone to bridge for a meeting, Rip had learned, had varying degrees of success. It could take a while for people to start appearing and then you’d be lucky to get everyone. The team weren’t exactly inclined to move quickly unless there was an emergency, or if food was involved.

Rip stared down at his bowl of cereal. After a moment or two, he spooned a dry spoonful into his mouth. The bits of cereal scraped painfully against his sore throat. Grimacing, he coughed and quickly drank some of his tea. 

Maybe he would just skip breakfast that morning. That seemed the safest thing to do at this point. He really wasn’t that hungry anyway.

He pushed the bowl aside and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

By this time the squabble going on around him had turned into a heated debate about which tasted better, real maple syrup or the artificial kind. Ray and Snart were arguing that the real stuff was better while Jax and Mick believed the fake kind was. Sara insisted they tasted about the same and Martin was happily staying out of the argument all together.

Since people were almost done eating, Rip decided he had better make his announcements before they disappeared into various parts of the ship. He cleared his throat.

The debate continued uninterrupted. Ray had started a lecture on all the horrible things that were put into fake maple syrup and the effects they could have on people’s health, and Mick was busy listing all the things he had put syrup on. It was a very varied list including such things as pork chops, candy canes, and oreo cookies. 

“If we could turn to more important matters,” said Rip.

No one heard him, or if they did, they ignored him. Ray was warning about the evils of high fructose corn syrup, Mick’s list had grown to include peanuts and french fries, Sara and Jax were rolling their eyes at each other across the table, and Snart was busy stealing Ray’s last sausage.

“Could you just...” Rip tried again speaking louder. Unfortunately because of his throat, this wasn’t very loud, and it had no effect on those around him.

Rubbing his nose, Rip debated whether or not to smash his tea cup on the table to get their attention. He really didn’t have the energy to deal with the Legends’ customary chaos that morning. 

Ray had noticed his missing sausage and was now gazing suspiciously at Snart who gazed blankly back at him. Sara pointed out that chocolate syrup was far better than either real or fake maple syrup and Jax agreed saying strawberry syrup was good too. Mick added onions to his list.

Rip’s nose itched and he rubbed it again. Sore throat or not, it seemed he would have to resort to yelling. He took a deep breath...

...and let out a giant sneeze.

Everyone immediately stopped what they were doing and stared at him.

Rip blinked, taken aback.

“Gesundheit,” said Mick.

“Uh, excuse me,” Rip said and cleared his throat. “Well, now that I have your attention”—It wasn’t how he had intended to get their attention but he would take what he could get—“I’d like to go over our plans for today. Gideon has detected a possible aberration in—”

“Are you sick?” Sara interrupted, nose crinkling as she frowned.

“What? No,” Rip insisted. “I’m fine. I’m fine. Now this aberration—”

Ray interrupted this time. “He does look a little peaky,” he said.

“Tired too,” added Jax as he looked Rip over. “Check out the rings around his eyes.”

Ray’s forehead furrowed. “I thought they always looked like that.”

Rip scowled. “I am not sick. I don’t get sick.”

The others gazed at him doubtfully.

“Then why are you acting even grumpier than usual?” asked Mick.

“I am not grumpy,” said Rip, his sharp tone belying his words. He took a deep breath and did his best to calm. “Could we please concentrate on what’s important instead of prying into the state of my health?”

Sara raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying your health isn’t important?”

The question threw Rip. His mouth opened and closed silently several times before he was able to reply. “Uh, what I’m saying is that we have an aberration that needs to be dealt with. I haven’t pinned down the exact location, but it seems to originate in India in 327 BC during the invasion of Alexander the Great. Alexander is conquering much more of India than he should have. Now given...”

Rip sniffed. His nose was itching again. 

“...given the importance of the events during the invasion in stopping...” 

He could feel it coming this time and he fought against it as best he could. 

“...in stopping Alexander from conquering the entire continent. We really need... need to...”

It was no good. Rip let out another explosive sneeze.

“Gesundheit,” Mick said again.

Rip opened his mouth to continue, but before he could, he sneezed a third time.

“Gesundheit.”

Sara gave Rip an unimpressed look. “Not sick, huh?”

“It’s nothing,” Rip insisted.

“You call that sneeze nothing?” said Snart. “They probably heard you all the way back in 2017.”

Mick snorted. “Can’t say I’m surprised. Have you seen his nose?”

It was Rip’s turn to give an unimpressed look. “It’s probably just allergies. Maybe there’s something wrong with the air filtration. The life support systems are overdo for maintenance. That’s why I told Mr. Jackson to make them a priority.”

Ray gazed at him skeptically. “Have you had allergies before?”

“No,” Rip admitted, “but—”

“Then allergies seem a bit unlikely, don't they?”

Rip sighed. “I suppose, but... but...” This time Rip interrupted himself by sneezing again.

“Gesundheit.”

“Yes, thank you, Mr. Rory,” Rip said, tiredly. He sniffed and realized he was in rather desperate need of a tissue.

Martin seemed to realize Rip’s plight and came over bearing a cotton handkerchief.

“You carry hankies around with you?” said Jax, lips twitching in amusement.

“They do come in useful on occasion,” Martin retorted.

“Thank you,” said Rip as he accepted the handkerchief. He blew his nose with what ended up being an embarrassingly loud honk. “Now if we could get back to the aberration...” he began once he was done, hoping to regain some control.

But Martin, who had been studying Rip with narrowed eyes, placed a hand on Rip’s forehead and said, “Have you noticed any other symptoms?”

“For God’s sake!” Rip exclaimed, rolling his eyes.

“We’re simply trying to look after your best interests,” Martin chastised.

“You’re making a fuss over nothing!”

“Does he have a fever?” Sara asked Martin.

Martin shook his head. “No. It’s probably just a cold, but given his dunking a couple days ago, I would advice he take it easy.”

“Take it easy?” Rip cried, his throat protesting as he did so. “In case, you’ve forgotten we have a rather pressing engagement ie stopping Alexander the Great from conquering all of Asia!” His voice was starting to grow hoarse but he persisted. “There are several other potential aberrations that need looking into as well. We need to pinpoint the exact location of the current one and deal with it quickly so we can...” His voice went from hoarse to raspy, then finally gave out completely. He coughed and reached for his cup of tea.

“Sore throat?” inquired Martin, pointedly.

Rip grimaced as he sipped his tea. He hated to admit it but even he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. “Alright,” he conceded reluctantly as he put the cup back down, “perhaps I do have a bit of a cold.”

Snart raised a sardonic eyebrow. “You think?”

“But it makes no difference,” Rip continued, ignoring him. “There’s no reason to halt the mission simply because I have a case of the sniffles.” He blew his nose once again as if to prove the point.

Sara cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips. “There’s also no reason we can’t take a break for a few days so this cold of yours doesn’t get any worse.”

“You really want to risk the timeline because of this?” said Rip.

“I’m pretty sure the timeline can take care of itself for a day or two,” said Martin.

“And if not,” put in Ray, “we could always do the mission without you.”

Jax nodded in agreement. “Yeah, why not?”

Rip stared at them, eyes widening with alarm as he imagined the hundreds of horrible things that could occur if the Legends had free reign in ancient India. “No, no, no, no. That would be... Just no.” He shook his head vehemently. “I’ll simply have to go through with the mission as I am.” 

As he was wasn’t actually that great. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was starting to feel rather lousy, even worse than when he had first got up. Not only was his throat still scratchy, but his head had started to ache and his nose was becoming increasingly runny. He also felt worn through as if he had been up for days. Of course, he wasn’t going to let that stop him from doing what needed to be done. He had completed missions in far worse condition.

“I can take some medication if needed,” Rip continued. “There’s no reason... no reason I can’t...” Not again, he thought as he quickly grabbed Martin’s handkerchief.

The sneeze he let out shook his entire body.

“Gesundheit.”

So did the second.

“Gesundheit.”

And the third.

“Gesundheit,” Mick said once again in an annoyingly smug tone.

Rip let a long, heartfelt groan.

“Alright let’s put it to a vote,” declared Sara, “who thinks we should postpone our next mission until Rip stops sneezing on us?”

Everyone, with the exception of Rip, put up their hands.

Rip scowled. “This is mutiny,” he said, petulantly, and sniffed.

“I’ve always thought we need a good mutiny now and again,” said Snart, his lips twisting into a wry smile.

“It’s really not that bad,” Rip protested, still not willing to give in.

“Well,” said Martin, “considering you’re not a medical expert and neither are any of us, how about we consult someone who is?” He gazed up at the ceiling. “Gideon?”

Rip blanched. This was not going to end well.

“Yes, Professor Stein?” said the A.I.

“What would you advice the Captain do given his current condition?”

Gideon’s voice was pleasant as usual when she replied but it held a hint of something that sounded almost like self-satisfaction. “It would be advisable,” she said, “that Captain Hunter spend the next few days in bed until his symptoms have fully abated. A week would be best.”

“A week!” Rip exclaimed, his voice squeaking in protest.

“In order to ensure he’s sufficiently recovered.”

Martin smiled smugly. “Thank you, Gideon. Anything else you would advice?”

“Unfortunately, I do not have antivirals to treat every variant of rhinovirus," Gideon said, "but I can prepare some medication to ease his symptoms so he may sleep better. Maintaining warmth and drinking a large amount of fluids is also recommended under such circumstances.”

Sara nodded. “You heard the lady. Time to get the Captain tucked up nice and warm in bed.”

Rip's shoulders slumped dejectedly. The entire ship seemed to be against him that morning. He let Sara drag him to his feet and start leading him out of the room.

“Alright!” exclaimed Ray. “Vacation time!” He high-fived both Jax and Mick.

Oh, God, thought Rip as he considered all the things the idle Legends could get up to.

Resisting Sara’s insistent pull, Rip turned to level a finger at the team. “I expect all of you to”—he was going to say ‘behave’ but that seemed too much to hope for—“not cause any major damage to the ship, the timeline, or yourselves while I am laid up.”

“’S alright, Rip,” said Jax reassuringly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

The others nodded in agreement, but there was a particular sparkle in their eyes that left Rip in no way reassured.

With a feeling of dread, he let Sara lead him away.

“Nighty-night, Captain,” Snart called out after them.

Despite Rip’s protests, Sara kept a firm grip on his arm all the way to his quarters.

“Now make sure you get lots of rest,” she said, once she’d seen him safely there.

“I am not a child,” he grumbled. “I can take care of myself.”

“Sure, you can,” said Sara, a little too sweetly. “Sleep tight. I’ll bring you some food later,” she added as she walked away heading back to the galley.

This was ridiculous, thought Rip. It was just a cold and they were treating him like—

A violent sneeze banished all further thoughts from his head.

A cry of “Gesundheit!” came from the other end of the corridor.

Rip sighed and closed the door to his quarters.


End file.
